


Doggy Style

by beekeepercain



Series: Mockumentary!verse [3]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Biting, Bruises, Depression, Dysfunctional Relationships, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Multi, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Rimming, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Suicidal Thoughts, Switching, mockumentary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-08-17 13:04:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 40,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8145037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/beekeepercain
Summary: "You like dogs, right? You've even worked with rescues. You say dogs make sense to you, that the logic makes sense to you. And I've been thinking, maybe that's because you work on the same basis."





	1. Laying Foundations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You like dogs, right? You've even worked with rescues. You say dogs make sense to you, that the logic makes sense to you. And I've been thinking, maybe that's because you work on the same basis."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to [Bonding Exercise ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5333885) and [Flawed Existence](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6694714). Read those first for context, or leave them aside and enjoy the descent into contextless hell - either way, I hope you'll enjoy the fic. 
> 
> I'm still in love with this trash verse with no end in sight. Join me.
> 
> This chapter is probably finished now. Stay tuned for the teaser into the next chapter whenever, if ever, it appears. With this fic, you just can't know. Anyway, enjoy.

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

 

Summer closes in, trapping Vancouver into something of a heat-wave haze. The streets grow dusty, and most the crew is steadily sneezing as the people move in through the studio doors or around the sets elsewhere to film the last stretch of the season. Jensen takes to flushing his nose to get the filth out, and he seems to be the one sneezing the least. Jared, on the other hand, comes down with a cold and films the first half of the season finale with fever. Perhaps it's the illness that sours his mood, or perhaps the fact that ever since the breakdown only a couple weeks ago, sex hasn't been working out for them, but Jensen knows it gets to him. The worst part is, he doesn't quite know how to explain - how to drag a subject that painful up again, if only to make clear that it's not Jared he finds unappealing. Sometimes, he wonders if a person can be traumatized second-hand, just from knowing what someone else has gone through: it seems selfish to appropriate the other's suffering, but hardly a day has gone by without some horrible nightmare filled with abuse leaving Jensen feeling ill in the morning. And when he's supposed to be touching Jared, the only thing he can think of is if the way he does it is the same way that faceless figure in his past did it. He keeps going soft before he can get hard all the way through, and if there's one thing it's helped him learn about Jared, it's that the guy just can't go on if his partner isn't visibly aroused.

One small ray of hope for him, Jensen finds himself thinking quite often.

The longer it goes on, the more erratic and sulky Jared gets, however. And Jensen understands that, too. Quietly, through extensive and painfully intimate observation of the man's behaviour, he's come to know well how much of his sense of self-worth relies on his perceived attractiveness and desirability. Jensen's always wanted him, to some twisted degree that persisted through the times that he absolutely did _not_ want Jared, and now that he suddenly appears as if he doesn't - well, it's a reasonable conclusion to draw that clearly, his past with sexual abuse has all but stripped him of all appeal.

Except that it hasn't.

The night before leaving the country - a high point of every season that Jared looks forwards to most of the year - Jensen forces himself to close out the flashes of a child he's never seen but whose face resembles the one he sees above him crying while a man whose name or face he doesn't know rocks back and forth over his small body, and he lets Jared fuck him. It's unexpected: he crawls through the late summer night to find Jared packing in his trailer, his wig stripped off, wearing nothing but a pair of loose grey pants he more than likely stole from the set, and a large black beanie that slips all the way down over his ears. The dogs are there, having returned with him from a long weekend in Texas for the last couple weeks of filming, and they peer at Jensen examiningly from the bed set beside the widescreen TV and the couch.

Jared's pretty. It strikes Jensen every time he sees him without the wig: first, just the shock of him looking so starkly different to his usual appearance, before Jensen's brain manages to connect the fact that the hair he wears doesn't actually grow from his scalp, and he should know that by now. With the beanie on, it takes him a little while longer to understand why he looks different, and maybe he stares a little too long, because Jared's fingers tug at the hat in an anxious, frustrated manner as he stands in the doorway waiting for Jensen to explain why he's there. Before Jensen does, however, he drags his eyes down to view the other's bare upper body and the pale red, still healing scar over where Jensen threw him into a table before, and a small grin tugs at his lips as he finally meets Jared's gaze again.

"One more try?" he breathes, eyes going dark as he voices his desire, and he sees the taller's frame relax before Jared nods, trying to appear indifferent.

"Sure."

It's the first time they have sex without the wig, and somehow, it seems to make a big difference. The way they fuck is slow from the get-go, lingering, somehow uncertain and reminiscent of some first-time that they never had together. Midway through it, the dogs migrate into the bedroom to sleep, and Jensen has to close his eyes to keep his cock hard.

He's never had a live audience before.

They fall asleep like that, covered in sweat and stained with come, and even as Jensen's consciousness is fading, he can feel Jared draw circles into the fluids over his stomach. Sometimes, his muscles twitch, but sleep is stronger than the irritation the touches cause him, and he blacks out before long regardless of them. That night, the thought of being afraid just doesn't occur to him at all.

They board different planes to reach different locations and part not for the summer holidays but for a mere couple weeks before a PR event, and the never-ending stream of conventions cutting their leisurely time in pieces periodically as if to keep them alert and aware of their careers through the less indulged months of the year. To Jensen, his large home suddenly feels emptier than before, its crooks and nooks silent and the feng shui of his decoration less of a relief than before. He drinks tea in his garden under the one damn old tree that has stood there for generations before his house ever appeared around it, and he meditates and he masturbates and even though he avoids taking long baths because water is a precious resource, he still finds himself soaking up sometimes, but none of that really seems to quiet down some weird longing he feels for Vancouver and its ceaseless rainy days, its misty mornings and the chill of bright winter afternoons. He spends so much time submerged in his pool that his lungs burn as they begin their slow transformation into the gills of a sea creature, and he jogs and he sunbathes and he fasts on juiced fresh produce and he burns incenses and he listens to the ocean and yet, still, underneath that all, he can't kill the void. The worst of all is his bed, the king-size emptiness that surrounds him like a vast desert, its waters long since evaporated and all but incapable of satisfying the thirst that keeps growing inside him.

And then he boards another plane. On the other side of his flight, his hotel room is white and full of cooled-down oxygen to contrast the California heat, the poster child opposite of the gala he's set to attend. A certain sense of unease fills him up the night before, one that has nothing to do with the anxiety he always feels prior to public events, but he pushes it back all the way until he's snuggly curled up in his five-star, non-vegan blankets and pillows. And there it strikes, merciless, like a sculptor's hand steadily carving away at the linings of his stomach.

He made a choice once, not too long ago: the choice to share the confined reality of his relationship with Jared along with the darkest parts of himself with someone he hasn't met or spoken to in years. Someone he tries his hardest not to think about if he's granted the luxury. And she'll be there, holding hands with the man who's forced his way into the center of Jensen's life like a knife into his chest. And she'll know. She'll look at him, and she'll know.

Like most nightmares, this unease keeps him first from falling asleep, and then from restful sleep. He sees flashes of half-consciousness filled with her eyes, although he's sure she's different from the woman he knew on set years ago. They are gazes he can't decrypt, glances he feels but isn't able to catch. Sometimes hatred, sometimes sneer, sometimes disappointment, jealousy, rage, excitement, curiosity. All looking deep into him, at places that should have never been revealed. The dark inside him twists with anxiety, and sometimes, it floods out with anger instead. Who is she to judge him?

Who _is_ she?

He's got more right to this than she'll ever have. He's paid for it in blood.

 _She gave birth to his children,_ a lazy, stretching voice speaks out loud somewhere much too close to him, and Jensen jumps up in his bed, covered in sweat.

It's five in the morning, and he drags himself to his five-star, non-vegan shower and then down to the hotel restaurant for something to chase away the nausea with.

 

* * *

 

"You'll do interviews from 1:00pm to 1:45pm, after which the opening ceremony will be held inside the panel hall, and at 4pm you're expected in the joint interview. After that, the awards will take place."

Jensen stares at the wall ahead. His suit fits him perfectly. It feels like he's not wearing anything at all - like he's sitting naked in the car. Awkwardly, he looks down at his body to make sure he's still clothed. The light grey over his well-fitted, perfectly pressed shirt looks like a mountain rising out of the ocean of oil that the leather seat underneath him represents. Blankly, he turns towards the man speaking to him.

"Photoshoot is right at the door so look your best," the man grins and lifts up a hand for a high-five.

Jensen returns it clumsily.

"Seek me out if you need anything."

"Yeah," he says, but the car drives too fast for his voice and it falls on the highway behind them.  
Something drives over it, something heavy, and Jensen swallows around the remaining air in his throat.

 

* * *

 

Genevieve Padalecki is dressed to kill. Her small frame is veiled in wine-red silk that reminds Jensen of a Roman goddess, and something golden glimmers greedily in the flashes of the cameras in front of her. Jared, on the other hand, looks like someone that Jensen doesn't really recognise. He's good at putting on that face. Out of the two of them Jensen wants to interact with neither, and he backs into position and flashes a smile for someone in the sea of photographers, hoping his expression screams for help loudly enough for someone, anyone, to grab him and drag him away.

There's wine. He takes the non-alcoholic sparkling fake-champagne instead. Non-vegan, something whispers in his ear. Come to think of it, he actually doesn't know if fake champagne is vegan or not. For the next fifteen minutes, he debates the issue in his mind, doing his best to appear busy either thinking or posing or answering questions or waving at fans so that nobody gets the chance to pull him together with the alien couple he's expected to be drawn to. The red carpet goes on for a thousand miles, and at the end of it, he finds himself cornered in a room with interviewers; Jared's there, even though Jensen didn't see him coming, and the hug he gives him tastes like a death threat.

They smile together, settle in seats next to each other, and pull on their roles. Jensen's mouth hurts from smiling. Jared, on the other hand, radiates like the sun. All that charisma, all the ease, all that distance to the man Jensen knows so well shines from him so brightly it's hard to look at him.

Yes, Jensen hears himself stutter. The brothers were left dealing with scary odds in the finale. Next season, we'll hopefully see them tackling it together. But it won't be easy.

We'll be returning to the basics of the show. Monster hunting, Jared confirms.

Will the brothers be in this alone or will we see more of the supporting characters joining in on the fight?

Yes. An uniform yes, to answer no questions. Jared laughs. His laughter sounds warm and real.

Jensen doesn't realise he's looking at him, but he looks at him for a long time. His chest aches. His throat is closing up on him. His eyes feel water and he doesn't know if he wants to punch the man or kiss him, or do both just to lick up the blood trickling down his battered lips.

The interview drags on overtime. When it ends, Jensen slips out before he has to see Jared reuniting with his wife. The two of them follow him into the hall, finding seats next to his.

Around Jared's lap, Genevieve leans in and touches Jensen's hand. She smiles, almost teasingly, and says: "Hi, Jensen."

His eyes are wide and his pupils expanded enough to drive out the green of his irises when he smiles at her and nods.

 

* * *

 

The hotel lobby is crowded, and Jensen feels like a snake slithering through it to find the restaurant again. He's still wearing his suit and his perfectly pressed shirt, but when he sits down by a corner table, he takes off his shoes to let his toes breathe. Inside his brain there's a drumming noise that has kept him company for the past six hours, and he feels exhausted when he orders an espresso. The waiter leaves and he leans his head back, feels the cool firmness of the wall behind him and he closes his eyes, breathes, trying to drive away the tension and the passive panic that still vibrates in his bones. The sounds of the evening crowd feasting around him and the more distant buzzing of the lobby make him feel safer, part of the mass, and while he craves the privacy of his hotel room, he feels like this just might be the place he needs to be now.

After a while, he hears his espresso land on the table with a muffled polite note from the waiter placing it there, and he peers at him wearily and nods with a smile. When he's gone, however, Jensen sees a familiar shape behind him that makes him slowly sit back up in his seat. Jared stands there like a ghost, watching him, with a small but, rather atypically, a somewhat comfortable smile on him. Jensen feels his brows rise up, but really, he shouldn't be that surprised; Jared, of course, shares the same hotel with him. They always do.

The man walks up to him and pulls out a seat for himself, picks up the menu and starts looking through it like he's been invited to sit there. And maybe in some way he has been - Jensen doesn't feel as uncomfortable with his presence as he should now that he's at least not tagging along with a companion. He can feel the pressure of some twist coming up, but for now, they're both quiet and he's just here for his espresso: as long as he can finish that, maybe he's up for another round of whatever life is about to deal him next.

The waiter spots a new guest at Jensen's table, and Jared orders a steak. It seems like they'll be there for a little while longer.

"You don't mind?" he asks Jensen without looking at him, his phone out now, the screen sucking up his whole attention.

"What?"

"Me eating a steak in front of you."

"No," Jensen hears himself reply, although pieces of dead meat soaked in fluids are generally the type of a thing that he minds, "Go ahead."

"So," Jared says then, still scrolling and tapping away at his phone, "Gen wanted me to tell you she was really happy with the chat you two had today."

Jensen swallows. Admittedly, he expected it to be worse. He expected it to be loaded, to be _something,_ but mainly it was pleasant - casual.

"Yeah," he says, still feeling like the words he seems to be speaking all come to be outside of him somehow, "It's been a while since we last spoke, it was -"

He doesn't know what it was. Nice? Saying it was _nice_ might land him in a situation where he'd need to do it all over again. Swallowing, he glances around them before speaking.

"How can she be that - neutral about it?"

Jared's eyes peer at him over the phone.  
"About what? Meeting an old coworker? What's not neutral about that?"

Jensen groans.  
"You know what I mean."

Jared grins as he looks back down at his phone, and it doesn't seem like he feels it's necessary to respond.

Jensen wants to shake him.

"You did show it to her, right? You said you would," Jensen keeps pushing.

"Show her what?"

"The fucking tape, Jared, don't act stupid. I know you aren't."

The younger man keeps smiling at his phone, although in a more toned-down manner. Finally, he lowers the iPhone onto the table and leans his elbow next to it.  
"Oh, that," he chuckles, shrugging, "Yeah. Didn't I tell you about it?"

"No, you didn't."

Jensen drowns a nervous gag reflex into a bitter sip of his coffee.

"Oh, she loved it," Jared says nonchalantly, like discussing the weather; "Said it was the hottest thing she's seen in a while."

"What the _fuck_ is wrong with you two?" Jensen mutters, facing the table with his cheeks flaring.

"Nothing. It spiced up our sex life, too. She was really into it."

Jensen makes an indistinct sound, not entirely certain he wants to hear more about that subject.

"So, anyway," Jared continues after a minute or so, pouring himself a glass of water from the jug set in the middle of the table, "I was thinking if you'd like to hook up next weekend. You know, at the convention."

"Huh?"

"I can't do it tonight since I'm with her and the boys are with us - putting them to bed when we're staying in hotels is always a nightmare and tomorrow is a family day anyway, but I'm coming alone for the convention, so unless you've planned something else, maybe we could, y'know. Fuck."

For a moment, Jensen stares at him. Then he groans again when his cock stirs in his suit pants, and he forces the rest of his espresso down his throat.

"Does she know?"

"About the plans we haven't made yet? Sure. I mean, she will. Open communication is the key to a succesful relationship, which, I guess, is why you don't have one."

Jensen feels a distinctive sting somewhere inside his body. It leaves behind a dull ache and a tiredness that doesn't have anything to do with the exhaustion he feels after today's event. He shrugs, watching the approaching waiter dancing around the tables on his way towards them.

"Yeah, well, I wonder who taught you that," he grunts out of the corner of his mouth before the food gets there.

Jared just keeps grinning. He accepts the plate with a cheerful thank-you and a tip pressed right into the waiter's hand. He's so good at facades when he feels like they are necessary that he could fool anyone - anyone at all - and yet underneath that, Jensen still isn't certain who he really is. All these roles, all the different aspects of his persona, all scattered and disconnected and inseparable from their circumstances. He's like an actual puzzle, yet not in the sense that he's a mystery for anyone to solve, but in the sense that he's made of flat pieces that cover up a dull blank base, a layer of glued-together bits and pieces of colourful nonsense forming pictures that only serve to hide the fact that there's nothing underneath them. Worse yet, each piece of him seems to be torn from a different puzzle, and Jensen doesn't feel that any of the parts fit together, much less reveal a picture of any consistency whatsoever. All of the corner pieces are missing or damaged beyond repair.

He sighs, watching the fluids bubble on the steak's surface. Jared's knife cuts into it and a small trail of fresh blood emerges from the rare meat inside.

"I don't know what to do with you," Jensen finally confesses to the plate.

"Huh?"

"You're - if you weren't a throughoutly toxic piece of shit, if you didn't exist to insult and offend and hurt me, I could..."

Jensen swallows.

"I know," Jared chuckles with a shrug, mixing the potatoes and the vegetables with the brown sauce, "But it really isn't my issue, is it? You want to love someone else, but somehow, you just keep crawling back to me instead."

The sensation of weariness grows exponentially, and finally Jensen leans back again and closes his eyes, making some kind of an indecisive sound as he draws away from the table.

"You think you can fix me," Jared keeps going after a moment, his tone of voice casual but intrigued, "And in spite of evidence to the contrary, the idea of being the one who saves me from myself is just too tempting for you to let go. You think you can do it."

"No," Jensen replies in an indifferent voice, "It's you who wants me to do it and you've said that I'm the only one who can, and I'm an idiot, so I keep trying to, because knowing you exist in the state that you do just feels like - like no one should go through that. I want to help you because you need help so badly you're practically always screaming for someone to see it, to notice how much you're hurting, and for some reason you chose me to be your last straw before you let go and drown."

They peer at each other, Jared still chewing through his food and Jensen's eyes only partially open, but it continues on for a long while before Jared's brows lift up and he nods in agreement.

"Either way," he says in that same throughoutly conversational, careless voice, "the conclusion is that you're an idiot."

Jensen grins and closes his eyes.  
"Yep," he mutters, feeling like his body's floating, rocking, in rhythm with the buzzing of the restaurant, "So I guess I'll see you next weekend, then."

"Good."

 

* * *

 

The week between then and the next moment flies past like the first couple of Jensen's vacation did. He travels again and spends the Saturday shopping for new clothes, something nice to wear for the Sunday panels, and he finds a good couple shirts and a pair of new jeans that match up well enough, a scarf that feels right around his neck, and some socks that don't matter so much but don't seem to twist around or make his feet sweaty and swollen. Jared arrives late that evening; they're both invited to hang out for the mandatory bar run, but both decline. Jensen knows he's only ever invited because the others feel like they have to do it, but he's made it a habit to decline. Not because he feels like the fifteenth wheel in a fully-functional group of fourteen, but rather because Jared tends to soak up those invitations and run with them despite knowing very well that no one wants him around for real. He doesn't care how many parties he crashes as long as there's a party he can crash, yet tonight, he, like Jensen, has pre-made plans.

There's no further advice on how it's to be done, so Jensen pretends those plans don't exist and spends most of his evening mixing his clothes and accessories to come up with the perfect combination for the next day's appearances. His laptop whirs gently in the background, filling the hotel room with the soothing tones of his relaxation playlist, and by the time he finally hears his phone buzz, he realises his distraction worked and he hasn't so much as thought about Jared or their plans for at least an hour and a half. To his surprise, the message is from Richard rather than from Jared: a group photo of the gang over a pair of dripping cold beers, asking him if he's jealous yet.

Sometimes, small gestures like this make Jensen feel like he's less on the outside. Hands trembling, he aims his phone towards the mess of clothes on his bed and takes a picture, sending it back with the comment _No, sorry, wardrobe malfunction to sort through :)_ attached.

 _"Loser :P U could wear pyjamas to the stage and still look like a f*cking supermodel, live a little,"_ follows his message shortly.

A soft huff escapes Jensen as he plants the phone back on the pillows. He runs his gaze over the clothes once more before starting to pack them away again; the new jeans, an old shirt and the new scarf with an assortment of matching wristbands will have to do. He doesn't get far, however, before there's a knock on the door.

Hesitating, he keeps packing a little more hastily until the bed is clean before he turns around and walks to the door. He peers out the hole out of a habit to make sure he's not about to let in a stranger, but it's Jared with his own eye near pressed into the hole in expectation of Jensen's paranoia, and Jensen undoes the safety chain and unlocks the door for him.

"What kept you?" Jared asks him with a hint of frustration in his voice, and Jensen steps aside to let him in.

He doesn't know to expect it, but the next thing he knows is a sharp pain over his both wrists and a deafening, blinding sudden contact between his back and the wall as Jared pins him against it, kicks the door closed and kisses him on the mouth. Some conditioned part of him surrenders immediately: out of the endless ways Jared has put him between himself and the wall, this is amongst the ones he likes better. Regardless, an alarmed chill rushes down his spine and makes him rigid even as his body presses against Jared's, seeking for more contact with him.

A moan trickles out of him when Jared's mouth moves down onto his neck, his hands still growing cold under the weight Jared's putting on his wrists that's blocking a good part of the bloodflow into them, and he finds his leg climbing up over Jared's thigh like he's some call girl in a cheap late-night movie.

 _This what you want?_ a barely conscious part of his brain asks him, and a pained sound leaves his lips soon after the first moan of pleasure.

He struggles with it for a while before feeling Jared's teeth press into his windpipe, and as his breath hitches, he hears his own hoarse laughter as he pushes the man off of him and makes him, in turn, hit the wall. Before Jared has the time to recover, he's on him, biting, sucking, kissing, licking, with his sore wrist catching underneath the waistband of Jared's jeans as his palm cups around his cock inside his soft underwear.

"Bitch," someone mutters, but Jensen's climbing down Jared's body and tearing off his shirt to reveal his chest, his mouth closing around an erect nipple to suck at it, to nip at it, and the words, whoever's they were, get lost in a mixture of wet sucking noises and a constant flow of short, breathless sounds.

Then there's a grip over the back of Jensen's neck, a forceful push down from there that lands him on his knees, and he's gripping Jared's waist from both sides to defend himself: they fall on the floor, biting, heads knocking together, elbows digging into flesh and sounds of pain and struggle and pleasure filling up the room together with the oceanic tunes from the laptop.

Jensen lands on top, presses his knee into Jared's groin, and he bites him on the neck hard enough to bruise. A hard slap falls over his face making his ears ring and he's incapacitated for just long enough to have Jared reverse their positions. They're both shaking, trembling and panting as Jensen plants his palm into Jared's chin and forces his head back, and a blunt blow hits him on the ribs, driving air out of his lungs. He gasps for air, blinded again, and there's a mouth over his crotch before he knows to anticipate it, teeth holding the front of his jeans and clamping around his cock underneath just hard enough to make him feel them. He moans, pants and finds his hand travelling through Jared's hair and over his neck, fingers trailing over his skin as he feels the man's fingers dig around for his zipper: his fly is open in a matter of seconds, and Jared tugs his cock out through the open front of his underwear, taking it in his mouth without hesitation or indeed stopping to ask any questions first. Jensen tastes blood, but the more pressing matter, he feels, is the fact that Jared's sucking him off and he hasn't done that, or Jensen hasn't let him do it, ever since after the talk. It's a sudden clash of two opposites: on one hand, Jared's  _good._ He's always been good and he'll never be anything but, like his mouth has been made for nothing but pleasure, like his tongue knows no other language but the one which it speaks around flesh, but on the other - on the other, Jensen's brain can't forget the truth in it, the way he learned it, the way he _had_ to learn it. The fact that this - this _natural_ talent he seems to have, the way he can so easily sink around a man's organ despite claiming he's never done it in his life before Jensen came around... that it all stems from the fact that he was trained to do it throughout his childhood. That this same mouth, once, was raped over and over again by someone who made Jared the way he is today.

Jensen whimpers through the struggle as Jared's fingers press into his balls through his boxer-briefs, playing with them as his tongue laps at the sensitive underside of Jensen's glans. His fingertips run along the middle of the man's sac, press underneath them, then stroke along the shape until his palm moves in and cups them instead. And his mouth, it's - fuck - Jensen gasps for air and tries hard not to buck into his mouth, with adrenaline still running in his veins and arousal rushing right alongside it. The sensation makes him want to grab Jared's head and just fuck him, thrust deep inside his throat and release right away, but he knows, he fucking _knows_ better than to do that, and the more he wants it the more disgusted he feels with himself. At times, he tries to pant quietly to hear the wet sounds the man is making, and his legs tremble and his knees keep hitting Jared's sides until the man elbows him in the thigh to make him stop. He's got such long fingers when he wraps his free hand around Jensen's shaft, and Jensen wants to shout, and he's shaking and mouthing words that aren't coming out and his hand is stupidly just rubbing around Jared's head, trying not to push, trying not to do this or that, and achieving nothing in turn. The hotel room's carpet makes a brushing sound as Jensen's clothes get caught into it; he feels his shirt draw tighter around his throat, but he can't spare the attention to tug it loose again. Then, out of nowhere, Jared's hand is off his cock and his two fingers do what Jensen couldn't, and the pressure around his throat releases again. The plush, hot wetness of the man's mouth disappears from his cock with the drag of cool, saliva-coated lips, and Jared examines him for a moment before returning his fist over his cock and giving Jensen a few more strokes with it.

"Why the fuck are you crying?" Jared asks him in a displeased manner, and Jensen's hand flies over his face to dry the wet streaks off his face that he didn't know appeared there to begin with.

"I'm sorry," he chokes, and his breath hitches.  
It's not because he's scared. It's just that he still wants to throw up, the entirety of his body feeling filthy from receiving pleasure from this - from something he's enjoyed a thousand times before, that Jared's giving him freely. But is he? Fuck, _is_ he? Does he do any of this because he wants to, or just because it's the only kind of affection he knows how to give, or worse, because it's the only thing he feels gives him worth?

Asking wouldn't make a difference: Jared still can't, and probably never will be able to, navigate his emotions and psychology in a manner that Jensen could rely on.

And, fuck, here it is again. The terrible, all-consuming guilt, like he's literally sleeping with a child. Underneath it all, Jensen just doesn't know if Jared can consent to this, to anything he does, to anything that's done to him.

Another pair of tears flows down his face and Jared lets out an exasperated sigh.

"Great," he growls, "This shit again."

The younger man falls back on his ass on the floor and pushes his hand through his hair, looking away from Jensen as if his crying is making him uncomfortable. In reality, he just likely finds it unpleasant to look at, or he's just showing his displeasure at it happening in the first place, but Jensen climbs up from the floor disregarding the cold shoulder he's getting from the other and tucks his aching cock back inside his underwear. He kicks off his jeans and leans to the bed just inches behind Jared, and finally reaches a hand to touch his back, but Jared shrugs it off like it's a fly pestering him.

"I just - Jay," Jensen starts, taking a long breath and wiping off the trails from his face again, "I don't know if - if this is good for you."

"You know what's not good for me?" Jared scoffs, his fingers tugging at his hair and Jensen wonders if he should stop him by now, "Having you start crying when I'm trying to give you a fucking blowjob. That's humiliating."

"I don't mean it like that. Fuck, I didn't _mean_ to cry."

"Yeah, well, you did anyway. You keep fucking doing it. I thought we were over this."

They're quiet for a moment, and Jared finally seems to grow aware of his hand tearing away at his wig, and he moves his fingers to pick at the hotel room's carpet instead.

"I should have never told you shit," he growls at it.

Jensen feels shame burn at his cheeks.  
"No. Jared, that's probably the one thing you ever did right," he counters, angry at himself or at Jared or something else altogether for making it so fucking difficult.

"Well, why the fuck are you punishing me for it, then?" Jared asks him, finally casting him a scorching look.

"I'm not punishing you," Jensen moans, "I'm just fucking torn after what you told me, because now I can't be fucking certain if I'm just - if I'm any better than the asshole who did that to you in the first place!"

"Do I look like a fucking schoolkid to you, Jensen?"

Jared's finally turning around, and he crawls forwards to face Jensen; his hands land on both sides of Jensen's bare thighs, and Jensen can feel his breath on his face.

"Do I?" he asks again.

Jensen closes his eyes and tries to suppress a dead smile. He shakes his head as he opens them again, looking directly into Jared's eyes.  
"No. But some part of you never grew up past that stage."

"What the fuck," Jared sighs and leans back again.  
He drags both his hands through his hair and rolls his eyes towards the ceiling.  
"What the fuck. If I'd known you're Sigmund fucking Freud, I would have never slept with you, and I would have _never_ told you _shit_."

"I want you to," Jensen hears himself launch back in a careless tone.

Jared looks at him suspiciously.  
"You want me to what?" he asks.

"Sleep with me."

"Then stop fucking crying?"

Jensen chuckles and lowers his head, pressing his palm over his forehead as if to chase away a brewing headache.

"Yeah, I should do that," he mutters to his bowlegs, "It's just - I can't stop seeing - I can't stop picturing..."

"Learn to get off on it, then," Jared growls, his hands suddenly appearing into Jensen's vision as he wrestles his legs open and crawls between them to kiss him, "Anything as long as you stop looking like I'm hurting you."

"Thought that -" Jensen tries to speak between the kisses, "- was what got you off."

"Shut the fuck up."

"No, seriously -"

"Shut up."

"- what do you get out of using force, anyway?"

Jared backs off again and glares at him. His tongue drags over his lips and he seems conflicted for a moment, and Jensen gets it; he's still hard, they're both hard, but the situation's constantly derailed by conversation that just can't be delayed or dismissed.

"I just don't like it," Jared finally says, still looking for words, "when things don't go my way, I guess. But I don't use force in bed. I can't get off if you're fucking crying."

"But you don't really care about consent, either. You just need me to play along."

He thinks for a moment, then shrugs.  
"I don't really understand what the difference between consent and going along with it is," he says in a frustrated voice, "I mean, if you don't fucking want it, then don't get aroused by it, don't fuck back. It's not that hard. If you're getting off on it then you're consenting, right?"

It's Jensen's turn to roll his eyes.  
"Jesus," he mutters to the lamp on the bedside table, "You're fucking dangerous."

"What do you want from me?" Jared asks him, his palm now forgotten over Jensen's still clothed stomach, "That I ask you every five minutes if you're still into it, or what?"

"As a general rule, Jay," Jensen says in a disgruntled tone, "Just asking once and listening to what I'm fucking saying would do for starters."

"So, you want this or you don't want this?"

"I want this. Do you?"

"Yes, I fucking do. So what now?"

"Now," Jensen replies slowly, closing his eyes, "we could stop talking and get to the part where you fuck me. And I want it on the floor, like we started it."

The next morning, when they crawl into the panel hall bruised and stiff and rug-burnt, Jensen's grateful he bought the scarf that now covers the bloody flowers blooming all over his neck and shoulders.

 

* * *

 

The void seems to grow smaller after that. They meet like that every convention, spend the nights together, and then part to heal and rest before the next time, and just like that the months fade and the summer sunlight burns away the green from the trees and kills away the flowers of its span, turning slowly but steadily towards fall again. August dresses in bright yellows and dried-out greens as it's parched by a dry spell when Jensen finally boards the plane for Vancouver in preparation for the first day of filming. For the first time, he doesn't dread the arrival; he's rested, and it seems that whatever awaits him on the other side he can now deal with.

Vancouver, as reliably as ever, is wrapped in a mass of dark clouds when the plane dives through them and lands with a few bumps on Canadian soil. Clif's there, waiting, and so are a few fans, including a young girl who'd travelled the entire flight with him and just didn't have the guts to tell him before they landed and the opportunity nearly slipped from her fingers - they take a photo together, and Jensen smiles at her, then lets her go when she seems to be on the brink of tears. Hoping it's out of joy and not because meeting him was the worst thing to ever happen to her, Jensen follows the way out and packs himself and his oversized lugagge in the back of the car. It's already well past 10pm when he finally sets the last pair of sweatpants into his trailer's limited wardrobe and looks out the window for the first time to see the lights on in Jared's trailer next to his own. He checks his watch, then turns towards the lights again, and momentarily he's stunned by the realisation of just how much has changed since the last season began filming. Never before would he have considered, seriously considered, going to the other star's door in the middle of the night - now, it seems like a real option.

Shivering, uncertain whether out of anticipation or anxiety, Jensen pulls on a long-sleeved shirt, slips his feet into his loafers and heads across the distance separating his trailer from Jared's. When he knocks, however, there's no answer. He skips off the steps and finds a window to peer through; he doesn't see anyone inside and wonders if the lights have been on the whole damn summer. While he's debating whether to wait or go back and get some sleep, however, he sees a distinctively tall, familiar figure in the distance with two dogs on a leash. He steps into the light to let Jared know he's there in advance - somehow, it still doesn't seem like a good idea to surprise him.

Jared doesn't seem to be in any hurry to reach him; he stops once to adjust the leash around the smaller dog's neck, and then keeps coming closer at a lazy pace, the larger dog slumping behind him at an even slower speed. It's old, but Jensen can't remember the name - he's seen it there every year, yet he's never thought to ask, never stayed around for long enough to hear it on accident.

"Hey," he greets Jared when the man finally enters the zone of casual conversation.

He gives Jensen a suspicious lookover, then nods and reaches to open the door for them, and they move in one by one, the dogs slipping through the gaps between the two men.

"What do you want?" Jared asks Jensen when they've both taken off their shoes, "I'm tired."

"Nothing," Jensen tells him truthfully, "I just - I saw your lights on."

"So?"

"I thought I'd -"

He thinks for a moment. He hadn't thought anything, really. He'd just went for it. Now, suddenly, he feels awkward and exposed there. What's he doing here, really? He didn't come for sex, the only reason they've ever gotten together in the first place. What did he want? A friendly conversation - with _Jared_ of all people?

What a stupid idea.

"I just realised you've never introduced me to your... dogs," he says then, clumsily, making a vague gesture towards the animals sniffing at his pantlegs.

Jared turns to gaze at them for a moment before kneeling down next to the larger one and petting its long back.  
"This is Sadie," he tells Jensen without looking at him, letting the dog lick his fingers, "and the other's Indie - Gen's, really."

"Right."

Jensen kneels, too; this is the strangest situation he's ever been in with Jared, but he's taking the opportunity to make it less so by indulging the pets instead. He likes dogs, so losing a few moments into getting familiar with them isn't an issue.

"Hi, Sadie. Hi, Indie", he mutters to them, fingers sliding behind ears, into the hair over their necks, scritching, petting, "Had a good walk?"

Jared scoffs and stands up.  
"I'm going to bed in a minute," he announces, "so whenever you're done -"

"I want to talk with you," Jensen tells him, trying to dodge a throughout face-licking from Sadie.

"Yeah? It's ten-fucking-pm, Jensen."

"I know."

Another scoff. Jared picks out a bottle of water from the fridge and downs most of it while Jensen still crouches on the floor with his animals. They look well cared-for; their coats are silky to touch, their bodies warm and fit, and their muzzles dig at him eagerly, pushing into folds of his clothing and under his chin as the dogs get familiar with him. Their tails are wagging and their dark eyes are clear and deep and loving like any other dog's Jensen's ever seen, and a thought hits him.

"Isn't - didn't you take Sadie in as a rescue a million years ago?" he asks.

"Mm-mm."

Finally, Jensen stands up. He circles the couch with the dogs at his heels feeling secure; somehow, even though he's never quite at home in Jared's trailer, it feels safer with canines in it. It's a stupid thought, really, as likely the contrary should be true - in case of a fight, the dogs wouldn't rush to his aid. He looks at them and smiles anyway as he sits down, catching Indie off the floor. The dog struggles a little before settling in his lap.

"Aren't you a little jumpy?" Jensen mutters to it, fingers stroking its floppy ears as it pants.

"So," Jared's voice carries from behind him, "You've just undone the no dogs on furniture rule like you own the fucking trailer."

"No wonder," Jensen continues without paying attention to the man, "since the guy who walks you is a mess like that."

He suppresses a smile at the exasperated sigh he hears from behind him. Soon after, Jared walks into his sight, pushes past Sadie who's still wagging beside the couch, and he sits next to Jensen, grabs Indie, and re-establishes his furniture rules. Then, he looks at Jensen for a long time, and Jensen notices he's got a hint of a black eye.

"Got into a fight, huh?" he asks him.

Jared cocks his head.  
"Not a big deal."

"Bad PR, you know."

"Not if it's not your fault."

Jensen nods, dropping the subject. He turns back towards the dogs, who are now finally losing interest in them and settling to rest.

"I thought sociopaths hated animals," he says then in a careless voice, but keenly gauging Jared's reaction to the word.

He seems to twitch a little, eyes flicking between the dogs and the low table in front of the couch. Then he stretches his shoulder and his neck and growls a little.  
"Not diagnosed," he utters, and Jensen can sense the discomfort in his voice.

"But treated on that basis, right?"

Jared shrugs.

"So, what is it?" Jensen asks him, "Why dogs?"

For a while, Jared's quiet again. He watches the dogs - Sadie, curling stiffly up on the dog bed by the wall, and Indie, gnawing restlessly at a rubber toy. Then he shrugs again and stretches his neck to the other side, palm rubbing warmth into the tense muscles.  
  
"I don't have a problem with animals," he says, "Never had. Never had a reason to. People are shit - complicated, illogical, selfish, annoying, whiny, needy - but dogs make sense. They're simple. They eat and sleep, then eat and sleep again, like a clockwork. You don't need to suck up to them. You don't need to perform for them. You could starve and beat one and it'd never question your right to do it. They don't question anything. They just exist."

"They don't exactly come that way, though. You've got to train them. I just - find it hard to see you having that kind of patience."

Jared glances at him, his eyes sparking with frustration.  
"There's nothing complicated about it," he says dryly, "It makes sense: the dog does something you don't fucking like, you ignore it, you don't give it a treat, you don't reward it, and once it figures it out it avoids doing that thing again because it wants to eat. Then it does something you like, and you feed it, it likes you, it does the thing again to get that same outcome. It isn't about patience. It's just basic logic. With a dog you get exactly what you put in."

"And people?"

"Just take what you put in and then demand more."

Jensen huffs. In a twisted way, the logic makes sense. Its his turn to go silent; he reaches at the table and swipes away some hair that scattered onto it while he was playing with the animals, mind heavy and full of a quiet white noise. He glances towards the window and sees the lights on in his own trailer, and he wonders whether he'd rather be there, or even in a taxi on the way to his rental apartment fifteen minutes away from here. He decides against it - right now, he prefers company. Even snappy, ungrateful company will do, and this is perhaps the first time that he's ever had the chance to dictate the way they meet: what they meet for, and what the outcome of it is. Jared has never invited him in for just a chat, not even when he's claimed to do so, but tonight Jensen came here because he wanted to, but not for any particular reason beyond that desire. Despite the cold treatment he's getting for it, it still makes him feel in charge.

His eyes move back to Jared and he wants to lean in to touch him, to rest against him; he misses the warmth of his body, but that desire won't be fulfilled and he knows it all too well. Jared's not one for casual affection - everything he does, just like everything done to him, has to serve a purpose and work towards an end goal, a gain. So, in a while, Jensen pulls up from the couch and steps away from it, preparing to leave.

In some way, he got what he came for.

"So, I'll see you tomorrow?" he asks, moving around to pull on his shoes.

Jared nods without looking at him, leaning his chin to his hand and gazing at the empty TV screen.  
"Yeah."

 

* * *

 

The first week starts slowly, lazily. Vancouver turns swiftly from cold drizzles to a burning hot sunlight as the heatwave reaches it, and wherever Jensen goes, whatever he does, he's always covered in a thin film of sweat. Jared, as usual, has it worse; he's drenched most of the time, and miserable as a result of it. When he's out in the sun, he's dripping - when he comes out, he's freezing cold. Still, every morning as Jensen hops off his bike or else crawls out of his trailer to sit in the shade for his morning mediation, bare feet curled up under his knees and pressed into his new yoga mat underneath, he sees him take the dogs out while it's still early and cool enough for them to run, and then return an hour later, the dogs happy and his exercise gear looking like he took a dive in it.

They don't talk much, not on set or off of it, but it doesn't take long for the crew to start noticing a difference with them regardless. Jensen feels it in the curious, almost shocked and barely covered glances he gets whenever Jared enters the same trailer or indeed any general space with him and he shows no sign of either caring nor moving away from the situation. No one in Jensen's team really knows what to make of it after years of having to put aside everything the moment Jared's arrival is announced. The first few days, without exception, his make-up artist stops working no matter which stage she's gotten into whenever Clif enters the trailer to let them know that Jared's coming, and then stares blankly when Jensen makes no effort to quickly vanish before the prediction comes true. Just as reliably, when Jared does enter the trailer, the first thing he does is walk to where Jensen's iPod connects to the portable speaker and unplug it to stop the soundtrack currently playing, but other than for this interaction, they pay each other no attention.

Then, finally, on Wednesday of the following week, Jensen returns from an evening walk to see Jared leaning to his trailer. Jared doesn't see him coming: he's playing with his phone and gnawing at his lower lip until the sound of Jensen's footsteps finally seems to shake him back to reality. He tucks his phone back in the pocket of his jeans and nods at Jensen after Jensen's first acknowledged him the same way, and they enter the trailer together.

"Need something?" Jensen asks him.

After taking off his striped loafers Jared's barefooted, and like Jensen he's wearing a casual set of loose clothes to battle the heat: the same grey sweatpants that Jensen saw him in before the summer hiatus began, a white v-neck, and a grey beanie. And just like then, he appears to have taken his wig off - he smells shower fresh, and Jensen assumes he took it off to wash. The curves of his ears show through the beanie, the one that's slightly crooked poking out more than the other.

For a moment, Jared hesitates. He lingers in the doorway, fingertips bent into the door's side as he slowly closes it behind him. Then, a quick shadow of something - frustration, anxiety - flashes across his face and he cocks his head again as if to shake the feeling off.  
"I just wanted some company," he admits.

Jensen hears it in his voice, in the slight trembling, in the unusually quiet volume and the way pushing out the words seems to be difficult for him. He doesn't know how to react to it, however; he's never dealt with Jared when he's feeling like this, whatever _this_ is for him exactly.

"Alright," he says then, uncertain, "You - uh - taken your pills, right?"

Jared eyes him through before shaking his head.  
"Trying to avoid it," he says shortly, "They - it's hard to - wake up for work if I take one."

Shortly, Jensen nods again.  
"What do you want to do?" he asks instead, "Your dogs alright?"

"They're good," Jared answers him, but leaves the other question hanging.

After a moment, Jensen sighs and pats the back of the couch.  
"Sit down, I'll make some tea."

"Fuck your tea."

"No thanks," he huffs as he turns to walk in the kitchen, "Boiling my cock is a specific kink that I don't suffer from, fortunately enough."

"I don't want it."

"And I don't care. I told you to sit down, so please, if you would."

Jensen wipes down the counter just to shake off the tension brewing in his body before turning for the kettle and filling it with water. He stays in that space while the water heats up, watching Jared as he sits on the couch, his back towards the wall and leaning to the arm rest, legs crossed and hands tucked between them. Once again, it's hard not to notice how beautiful he is: he seems flustered, with pink lingering over his nose, his cheeks and bringing out the tone of his lips. This late in the day his stubble's already grown into a fuzz, and the dark hair paints an outline to his jaw that Jensen's eyes linger upon for a moment. His lips are slightly parted, and when he breathes his nostrils flare - his eyes keep changing focus from one object to the other, and his body's constantly moving in twitches or as he readjusts one part or the other, stretches something, or rolls his shoulders to relieve the tension in them.

"Did you get the new script?" Jensen asks the kettle as he turns to look away, his body reacting - God, it's been nearly three weeks since he last had some, but now's not the time.

"No," Jared replies shortly.  
In a brief moment, he clears his throat as if choking, and continues;  
"I did. I didn't open it yet." 

"Good. Me neither."

A cold, crispy wave of peppermint-scented air flashes over Jensen's face as he pours water into the two mugs set next to him on the counter. He grabs them and walks over to the couch, sits on the arm rest that isn't occupied by Jared's back and places the drinks on the table next to them. Jared eyes the mugs, but his expression remains panicked and tense and doesn't change in the slightest when he sees the steaming tea. Jensen watches him, not the tea; he wants to reach out and touch him, but he looks as if electrified, and Jensen's almost certain that he'd react badly to contact. And badly, in Jared's case, can really be _bad_ \- that much he's learned. But it's hard not to do it anyway, hard not to give him the comfort Jensen knows he'd prefer himself, the warmth of a good, long embrace and the feeling of gentle lips pressing against his temple to reassure him. He's not sure if such things have any benefit for Jared, but it's his first instinct to try it anyway - with that option outruled, he's uncertain where to go next.

"How's Gen?" he asks as casually as he can.

"Alive," Jared answers simply, his eyes now set and glassed over the mugs on the table.

Jensen rolls his eyes.  
"Well, that's good, isn't it." 

"Mh."

"You eaten something lately?" he asks instead.  
It's like talking to a toddler. The next step, Jensen figures, is to ask if he needs to go. 

"Mh," Jared says again.  
He readjusts once more, draws out his right hand from between his legs and reaches for the tea. 

 _Thought you didn't want that,_ Jensen finds himself thinking with a distinct sensation of satisfaction underlining the thought.

"You want an energy bar or something?" 

"Yeah."

Sighing, Jensen pulls up and walks to the cupboards. He wipes two bars of chocolate-flavoured granola bars off the shelf and returns with them to Jared, who finally releases his left hand to grab them from him. They spend the next ten minutes in perfect silence, both drinking their tea, the wrappings of the granola bars making the only sounds that clash with the humming of the universe around them. Outside, the lights go on; Jensen watches the falling darkness through the window and realises he misses the autumn colours and even the icy cold rain.

"Can I take a picture of you?" he asks absently.

Jared stops, then slowly balances the remaining half of the last granola bar over his knee. He looks at Jensen suspiciously.

"Why?" he asks.

Jensen shrugs.  
"Just because." 

"I look like shit," the other complains, and Jensen notices his grip tightening around the mug.

He shrugs again.  
"Not to me. Like the colours. You look good in grey. You look good, period." 

He expects a smug "I know", expects _something_ to follow that sentence, but Jared says nothing and instead looks down at his lap, the fingertips of his snack-free hand reaching to rub at the fabric of his pants. There's a tension in the air between them, something like a current vibrating there, heralding words that Jared doesn't know how to speak, and before he can stop himself, Jensen has already reached across the couch and touched the man gently on the shoulder. He jumps, tenses; his head makes an abrupt movement towards Jensen, but snaps to a halt before their eyes meet, and Jared's gaze freezes to the floor instead. For a moment, he's barely breathing, and Jensen's fingertip makes a steady patrol over the bump of his collarbone merging into his shoulder.

"Against all odds," Jensen hears himself say in a calm tone, "I like you, Jared. It's hard. You make it so fucking hard to care about you, and liking is a big fucking stretch to make from that. But I do. Maybe it's Stockholm syndrome; I can't reason with it, and it doesn't make sense, but ultimately, I'm too tired to try to figure it out anymore. And, I know it doesn't mean shit to you, but I'm glad you came here. I'm glad you're here eating my snack bars and drinking my tea that you don't want, because the alternative - of you sitting in your own trailer alone with this shit, it's not what I want." 

He feels the tension in Jared's body grow momentarily before breaking. The man seems to melt under his touch, and his expression dies out entirely. He's blank, barely breathing, his eyes staring empty at nothing in front of him, and Jensen keeps stroking his shoulder until he suspects the skin under his shirt is turning numb from the repetitive stimulation, and he reaches, once more instinctively, to stroke his head instead.

In a swift move, almost too quick for Jensen's eyes to catch it at all, Jared's hand flashes to slap away his, and then they sit in silence again, Jensen's arm aching from the impact. He sighs and drinks his tea, eyes flickering away from Jared back to the window.

"I wish I could fucking help you," he says to it.

He hears and sees from the corner of his eyes Jared pick up the rest of the granola bar and chew at it until there's nothing left in the wrappers.

"Take the fucking picture, then," Jared finally says.  
He dumps the empty wrappers inside his empty tea mug and plants it on the table. 

Carefully, Jensen places his own mug, still containing a little tea on the bottom, next to it. He slips off the couch and grabs his phone from the kitchen counter, moves next to his TV screen and watches Jared on the couch. He looks unwilling like a fucking trafficing victim, and when Jensen lifts his phone, he feels like a crook taking a photo for an auction site.

"Can you look at me or something?" he asks.

When Jared does, he realises it does nothing to make him feel better. There's a strange bottomless void behind them, like staring into the eyes of an animal right before it's slaughtered. Slowly, he lowers the phone again and walks back to the couch. He presses a knee into it and leans over Jared, and he kisses him on the mouth; there's no answer, but no tension in his body either. He just feels dead inside, like he's just given up completely.

"Why are you so fucking difficult?" Jensen asks him, mouth against mouth, and Jared closes his eyes.

"I wish I was fucking dead."

The words are so silent that Jensen doesn't really hear them - more than that, he feels them against his own lips, the weight of them, the cold that comes with them. He closes his own eyes, too, and drops the phone on the couch next to him, and he wraps his arms around Jared and holds him against his body, the other's face pressed into his chest and one hand up over the back of his head, palm shaped around the hard lump of the back of his skull.

"You don't," he says, but he doesn't doubt it; not really.  
He's never seen any indication of Jared enjoying his existence whatsoever, and phrased like that, he has no reason to question it.  
"You don't," he repeats regardless. 

They stay like that for a long while without anything changing: Jensen's muscles tremble from the tension of keeping him in that unnatural position for an extended amount of time, but he doesn't want to pull back, either. Sometimes, he strokes the man's head in short but slow movements, and sometimes he stays completely still just feeling the warm blasts of air hitting his sternum. He expects to feel tears - they seem fitting for the situation - but no wetness whatsoever appears over his shirt, and when he finally lets go, nothing about Jared's expression has changed. He avoids Jensen's gaze when Jensen steps back, picks up his phone again and sits on the edge of the low table, then lifts his arm on the back rest of the couch and looks into the camera with an unreadable expression, lips pressed together, nose flush with colour that spreads like a pastel pattern over his cheeks.

The camera stills his movement and burns a memory of the moment into the phone's system. Jensen lowers it again, places it on the table and tugs at Jared's shirt to get him to stand up after him.

"Let's go to bed. You need some sleep."

 

* * *

 

For an hour or so, they both just exist in an idle stillness surrounded by the dark in the trailer's bedroom. The window's covered with a curtain, and no light pours through in there. Neither of them's sleeping, and Jensen finds his body craving the security of his apartment and his normal routine, an hour of meditation and a warm shower, but he doesn't feel comfortable getting out of the bed for them either, and he's unwilling to leave Jared unsupervised in the strange state he's in. Then, unexpectedly, he feels the man's palm spread over his stomach, and before he knows how to react to it, Jared's climbing over him; his leg strokes over his own, staying to rest there. He leans in to kiss him on the mouth, then on the neck, and Jensen's breathing halts when his hip presses against the side of his own. He's not hard, but it's not difficult to figure out what he wants. After a short debate, Jensen goes with it; he moves his hand on the back of Jared's neck and lets out a small moan, giving him space to move against him.

His own body's quick to accept the touch. Shivers like waves rush through him, and his cock stirs, filling up fast and full until it presses hot and heavy against his skin, trapped by his underwear. He practically jumps to the feel of Jared's hand cupping it, rubbing it through the cloth, but Jensen's strangely aware of the fact that even now Jared's own body hasn't reacted at all. He wriggles under the man until he's opened up enough space to reverse their roles, and the next moment he's sucking at Jared's neck, nipping at his ear and licking a trail between the two. His fingers tread the short, uneven hair over the man's head, then trail through the stubble lining up his cheeks and jaw, and his teeth drag through it just to feel the texture. All Jared does is tilt his head to allow space for his mouth, but his breathing seems to stay the same and his fingers feel cold over Jensen's stomach. He's never been like that before, and Jensen's not sure what to make of it - somehow, it feels like speaking now is forbidden, and he doesn't know how to ask.

Instead, he tries his best to bring out the spirit he knows should be trapped in there somewhere. He bites, sucks, kisses, licks, and his hand moves under Jared's shirt to play with his nipples, erect and textured against his fingertip. He drags his palm over the man's stomach and down over his crotch, but despite the warmth that gathers there, he doesn't feel a response to his touch. A sense of desperation brews inside him and the longer it goes on, the less he understands he, and the more awkward he feels trying.

"Jay," he breathes into the man's ear, finally unable to hold it back, "What's going on?"

Jared shakes his head.

"Fuck me," he says in a shaky exhale, "Just - fuck me raw."

Jensen's hand runs over his head again, but otherwise, he's gone still; his other hand rests between them now, unmoving.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"I want you to hurt me. I want you to fuck me into the mattress until I'm bleeding and can't walk. I want you to fucking ruin me. Put me in the hospital. Kill me. I don't care. I want out of this skin. I hate it. I hate every fucking part of it. I just want out, Jensen. I want it to fucking _end_."

Jensen's eyes burn. He closes them and forces his trapped hand underneath Jared's body until it reaches around him, and he moves his arm around him and holds him tight against his own body, trying to breathe steadily, trying to _breathe_ in the first place.

"It's gonna be okay," he hears his voice vibrate against Jared's face now buried half underneath his own, "It's gonna get better."

Instead of an answer, he feels the man move and then a sharp pain hits his ear; he wants to laugh, and maybe he does. A breathless sound escapes him at the same time as a tear slips down his face and lands somewhere on Jared's instead. Its pair pools in a pit next to the bridge of his nose, a light yet annoying weight he's uncomfortably aware of and which tickles at his skin until he finally reaches around the other man's body to wipe it off. Jared growls, his knuckles burying into Jensen's stomach, but once Jensen's arm relaxes again, so does he.

"Don't you fucking laugh at me," he says in a low, raw voice, spoken directly into the pillow between his mouth and Jensen's head.

Jensen turns a little to give him space, but as he moves, Jared keeps pushing his own head forwards so that it stays exactly as trapped underneath Jensen's as before.

"Don't fucking laugh at me. I want to fucking die."

"Yeah," Jensen says, and all he wants to do is just cry, call someone for help - anyone at all would do.

He's not equipped to deal with this: he has no idea what to say, what to do, or if this is a situation where he should be calling an ambulance, or if he should walk Jared to his own trailer and make him take his medication to get him to sleep it off. Instead, he keeps talking.

"Yeah, I heard you, baby. I heard you. It's gonna be alright."

He swallows the anxiety crushing his airways and resumes stroking the back of Jared's head. Once he's reasonably certain his voice won't break, he clears his throat and starts filling up the silence again.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Jared doesn't answer, but Jensen can feel his body... he's not sure exactly _what_ is happening to it, it feels more like involuntary spasms than anything, but he's not crying, and Jensen doesn't know what to do about it, whether to acknowledge it or leave it as it is.

"You're gonna get through this. Alright? Jay, tell me. What can I do to help you? Anything."

"Nothing. No one can do fucking anything to help me. That's the fucking problem. I'm just - I can't - it's not fucking worth it."

Finally, Jared stirs; he pulls away from Jensen and sits up, his back hitting the headboard of the bed as he pulls his knees against his chest and puts his head between them. Jensen follows him up, the warm blanket slipping off his body. He reaches his hand to place over Jared's shoulder, even if he doesn't know if helps or just makes everything worse. He listens to the man's erratic breathing and tries to dig through his brain for anything useful, but it all comes back to a blank, and underneath it all, he just wishes it would _end_ \- that Jared would quiet down, go to sleep, and this situation would stop existing.

"Jay," he calls out again, "Jay."

He shifts closer and presses his head against Jared's.

"If you're not gonna talk about it, I'm gonna talk about it. I don't know what's up with you, but I'm gonna be here filling up the silence, because Sigmund fucking Freud isn't here and I'm the person you've chosen for the job. Right? So maybe you'll get angry again. Maybe you'll fuck me up for even trying. But I'm not scared of you anymore. And, to me, it looks like you're not so scared of me either. I bet that fucking hurts. I bet, more than anything, you're scared of that happening, of actually trusting someone. Maybe you're afraid that I'm gonna leave you - that I'm gonna use you and walk away, or something, but I won't, I promise."

"Stop fucking analyzing me, you don't fucking know - you have no fucking idea -"

Jensen grunts, and before he knows it, he's just put his palm over Jared's face and he doesn't _care,_ he just wants him to shut up and let him talk - stop complaining, stop fighting, just _stop._ He feels the other's saliva wet his palm and he presses harder until he feels teeth, and it's only at that point he feels the man _sob_. The sound - the feeling of his body contracting - makes him release some pressure over the hold, and Jared's quiet again, just trying to breathe and regain control over the hitching, gasping beginnings of hyperventilation.

"I'm not going anywhere, Jay," Jensen tells him more firmly, letting go of his mouth to give him the chance to press his head back in his knees to regain control over his breathing, "I'm not going to leave you, I'm not going to let you kill yourself, and I'm not going to kill you, I'm not going to hurt you, and I'm not going to use you."

"Why are you such a fucking good person?" Jared groans into the space inside his curled up body, "Why are you a fucking saint? What do you need to come back to your fucking senses, do you want me to fucking kill you or what?"

Jensen shrugs, even though Jared can't see it.

"I don't think this is a kill or be killed situation anymore. I don't think you've got what it takes. I know you know how to hurt me. I know you could, if you wanted to, fuck me up six ways to Sunday and, yeah, maybe you could kill me. But I don't think you'd go that far. And frankly, I don't think - after everything you've already done to me, what's murder to top that?"

Jared lets out a sound that's impossible to decipher: it sounds like a snake spitting venom, but also like he's choking, and Jensen just lets him get through it. While his breathing settles again, the room is silent, and Jensen finds himself looking at the covered window hoping it was open to let some oxygen inside. The place feels suffocating, the heavy and still warm air so throughoutly used it feels like he's breathing used air with every breath. From there, his thoughts turn to something else, and for a while he feels his gaze glass over to the sound of Jared's gasps, before it all resurfaces in the shape of a plan he didn't know he'd been thinking over.

"I think," he starts talking again, "What you need is someone to control you when you can't control yourself. I think what you're looking for and what you want and what you're trying so hard to get in all the wrong ways is just someone who could tell you when to stop. I think, I'm almost certain, that's why your relationship with Gen hasn't fallen apart in a million ways by now - she gives you a very specific role with a very strict set of rules to follow, and you do it because it pays off."

He's quiet for a moment.

"When I wasn't putting down rules for you, you did whatever you fucking wanted with me. But you don't do that anymore. Some part of you just can't cross a line. You can't fuck me if I'm crying. If I'd known that when you came here the first time, you would have never come back again, but now I know it, and now you can't stop coming anymore. You're just as addicted to this piece of shit relationship that we have as I am, aren't you? You can't keep coming back here without coming back to me, too. You need me. If I left, you wouldn't know how to cope with it. You showed that before. You'll hold onto me as hard as you fucking need to in order to make sure I never go away and yeah, Jay, I'm pretty sure that if I chose to walk out, that's when you'd kill me if you had it in you. But I don't think you do, and I could walk out, and I know that now. I'm not afraid of doing it anymore."

Jared's not choking anymore. He's not making any sound whatsoever, and he's not moving, and if Jensen needed any confirmation for what he's saying, this would be enough. He doesn't, however; the more he speaks, the more certain he is that he's right on every count.

"I also know," he says in a less confident voice, in a less conversational voice but rather a tone that reveals even to his own surprise just how much that thought scares him, "that if I left now, you'd probably die."

Voicing it leaves a chilling silence. He's never thought about it before, but it's something that Jared said to him himself.

_Do you want me to kill myself? I wasn't asking for a permission. I asked you if you wanted me to do it._

For the first time, he realises something he hasn't allowed himself to think until now: he has the power to end Jared's life, at any moment, and that that power is what ties him to the relationship. It's not love, it's not any Samaritan urge to save him from himself, but the knowledge that if he goes, he's responsible for a death - nothing more than a murderer himself. It doesn't mean that those other motivations don't exist; he does love Jared, in whichever twisted way it is. And he does want him, desire him, and he wants to help him. But ultimately, it comes down to avoiding responsibility, and to the heavy burden of _knowing_ that walking out isn't a choice he can make.

A choked laugh escapes him.

"Fuck," he mutters into the darkness, "so this is what it feels like to be trapped in a fucking nightmare."

An eternity passes by before a small, hoarse voice speaks into Jared's knees again.  
"I don't want this," he says again, "I don't want to be like this."

"I know."  
And Jensen does know. He looks at the miserable, huddled-up ball beside him and touches it again.  
"If you had a choice, you wouldn't be that way. But you don't really have a choice, do you. It wasn't something you could opt out of. It's just what you had to become to survive." 

A shaky breath echoes in the space surrounded by walls of skin before Jared straightens up and looks into the opposite corner of the room.

"I have an idea, Jay," Jensen tells him, and he sees and feels him tense in surprise, "It's not an idea that'd ever be approved by any of your doctors or whatever, but the thing is, I don't think your doctors are working out too well for you anyway. They haven't helped you because you don't trust them, because for you, to trust someone is the same as giving them power over you and you can't allow that, you can't let anyone get that close. But it happened with me and I'm here to abuse that power, so... you want to hear what I've got in mind?" 

Slowly, Jared looks towards him. Not in his eyes - nowhere near his eyes - but as long as Jensen's knees have his attention, it's good enough for him.

"You like dogs, right? You've even worked with rescues. You say dogs make sense to you, that the logic makes sense to you. And I've been thinking, maybe that's because you work on the same basis. Maybe everything you need is just some solid fucking rules to follow, a clear connection between action and consequence, and someone to hold the leash. You followed me home, Jay. And I don't see an alternative here - either it's me or it's no one, ever. I'm not putting you back in the pound, because the pound's gonna put you down."

Jared shivers. He's exhausted and Jensen sees it in everything in him: the way his head droops, the way his eyes are puffy and barely open, the way his mouth hangs open ever so slightly, the way his back is bent and the way he struggles to keep breathing. Jensen slides his hand down over his back and keeps petting him over and over again to remind him that he's safe here, that he's not alone, and he doesn't care anymore if it makes a difference to Jared. It makes a difference to _him_ , and that, for now, has to be good enough for them both.

"Your kids need you, Jay. The show needs you, your wife needs you, and the fans need you. So you can't just die. I'm not going to kill you. I'm not going to _let_ you die. And I know it's ultimately not my choice - if you want to, I can't stop you. But before then, I want to try and help you. Maybe this is the way. Maybe it's not. Maybe I'm gonna fuck you up even worse, betray whatever trust you had in me. But you've forced me to try, and I'm going to, because I love you, and I want you to live, and I want to see you get better. I want to see you heal. Sometimes, Jared, I just - I wonder what you'd be like if you weren't so fucking broken. And I know you do, too. So give yourself the chance, and don't end it here."

Jared seems to move like a poorly-functioning robot when he lifts his head and finally looks Jensen in the eye. Jensen watches him struggle to get a sound out of him, but when he finally does, he doesn't say anything that Jensen expected him to.

"You... actually, you fucking - really _love_ me?" he asks instead.

Jensen lifts his brows.  
"Yeah."

"Why the fuck would you _love_ me?"

There's a fraction of a pause after the words, but then Jensen laughs wearily and shrugs.

"I didn't realise I've never said that to you while you've been listening, and I thought you knew, or - I guess you knew, but you just didn't take it seriously. I don't know."

He thinks it through for another moment before carrying on: "I didn't ask for it. But it's really hard not to. It's - it's not just that you're beautiful. You are, and I know you know that. And it's not because I want to sleep with you. It's got nothing to do with that. It's just that somewhere along this mess that has been the past year, I've just - seen parts of you that got to me, parts that I'm drawn to, like small cracks in the shell that you put forwards and it's - I know I could love that person in there. At some point, even though at first I wasn't attracted to you because of that, I started loving that person. And it's hard dealing with you the way you are, but sometimes, even if it's fucking fleeting at times, it seems like it's worth it."

"You're a fucking masochist."

"Yeah. I am. But you're not a sadist. I think that's the most important thing I ever learned about you. You don't enjoy hurting others. And you've never enjoyed hurting me. Once I realised that, it was easier to start forgiving you for doing it anyway. And, you know, it's gotten better. It really has."

"You grew a thicker skin."

"And you started changing, Jay."

Jared doesn't contest it. He looks like the thought scares him, and Jensen doesn't push it further; he holds the man's shoulder for a moment before settling back down on the mattress.

"C'mon. We've got work tomorrow. Get some sleep."

Stiffly, Jared nods and follows him down. He falls asleep before Jensen does, going out like a light in less than five minutes. Jensen, on the other hand, stays awake for an hour more before finally giving in.

 


	2. The Basics of Behaviour

* * *

 

When Jensen wakes up, the light clashing with the thin curtain over the window is still pale and weak. He reaches for his phone and turns off the alarm; he'll be awake an hour and a half from now. Despite the weight in his muscles, he feels like sleep has all but left him already, and his mind is steadily flooding with thought already. Beside him, however, Jared still sleeps, and after the night before this doesn't surprise Jensen either. Tranquilizers or not, whatever he went through must have left him drained.

Quietly, Jensen sits up and stretches; he eyes the light outside and wishes he could drag aside the curtain, but he doesn't want to disturb Jared. The longer he sleeps, the better, and Jensen's almost certain it's true for more than just Jared himself. He's still pale, and without his wig or his beanie he looks somewhat ill. The morning light paints his lips a shade of blue but at least that Jensen knows to be an illusion only as he climbs up from the bed and watches him breathe for a moment. Then he leaves the room, closes the door behind him and puts the coffee dripping. While the pot starts making gurgling noises behind him, Jensen pulls on his shoes, hops out the trailer and heads to jog around the studio premises to get the tension out of his muscles before moving on with the day. The weather is still pleasantly mild, but the cloudless sky promises another parching day for them. It's better inside the studios, but even there the merciless sunlight is only replaced by the beaming of the spotlights, and it's not much better - the only relief they have there are the large fans set to cool them down inbetween the shots. Outside, that relief isn't so readily available: other than Jared's personal fan, the only source of cool air tends to be whichever shade is readily available for them to cover in and whatever breezes the weather may or may not offer in turn. Today's scenes, however, are shot indoors, and for that at least Jensen's grateful.

He returns to his trailer some fifteen minutes later, sets out two mugs for the coffee, fills both and takes them with him as he returns in the bedroom space. He balances on one leg and opens the door with his free one, a skill he neither needs nor will ever confess to having, and slips inside the still dark, still cool room in silence. While he's been gone, Jared's taken up most of the bed, and Jensen wonders if he's done that consciously or not; he's not much of a spreader, seemingly preferring to sleep in as tight a curl as he can get himself in, but Jensen rarely leaves the bed without waking him up as well. Perhaps that's just what he does when he's got all that space for himself - it would fit his personality better than the fetal pose he seems to prefer around Jensen.

Before waking him up, Jensen plants his own cup of coffee on the bedside table and sits down again. He breathes in the quiet and tries to convince himself he's ready to do this - ready to live up to his words and make the changes in their relationship that he promised he'd make, but it's harder now when it's morning and the whole weight of the coming day rests on his shoulders. There's so much to do; he's got his job to concentrate on, a crew to work with, his own needs to fill somewhere inbetween there, and now Jared to babysit. He's promised to set rules for him, promised to help him find a sense of security with clear boundaries and a set of rewards to go with them, but that's not his job, and he's not entirely certain where, if anywhere at all, he can fit that responsibility amongst the ones he's already juggling every day. He lowers Jared's mug onto his thigh and drags his palm across his face, eyes closed, trying to convince himself that he's just got to find the time somewhere - that it'll take a few days, but he'll learn to balance it all.

On top of that all, this is a relationship, and Jared's not really a dog. Somewhere in there, they'll still have to have those conversations, they'll have to find time for intimacy, for all the interaction maintaining a connection requires - it can't all be training, but it'll all have to somehow still tie in with it.

But when did it become that? When did a chain of what can barely even be dismissed as semi-consensual sex turn into something else? When Jensen realised he loved the man who was holding him hostage with nothing but his presence alone, or when he realised he didn't want to escape him anymore? Was there some other waymarker down the line that he'd completely missed? And how could he ever trust any of that to be _real_ \- he knows well enough it isn't healthy, but can he even be certain that it really exists, that it really is something other than a twisted coping method to make him believe he could ever be happy like this? Would it make a difference? Out of all the foundations ever laid for relationships, theirs has to be the worst kind.

Jared's sleep-warm and soft to touch when Jensen finally reaches for his shoulder and nudges him gently.

"Jay. Jared."

A flash of discomfort crosses Jared's expression before his eyes open by a fraction; he looks up to Jensen, unfocused and idle.

"Brought you some coffee," Jensen tells him in a quiet voice, offering the mug to him.

He stares at it blankly for a moment before struggling up into a sitting position, back to the headboard and a mildly annoyed look on his face. The mug trades owners, and Jensen takes up his own; they drink in silence for a few moments, Jensen watching the window again and Jared staring at his own knees. Like Jensen, he's still wearing his sweatpants, and through the fabric Jensen can see the keys to his trailer as vaguely shaped bumps in his pocket.

"What time is it?" Jared asks him after a long while.

"Seven or so. You still have time to walk the dogs and get ready, I made sure you won't run late."

Jared nods. Jensen knows by now that expecting even a simple thank you from him is too much, and barely even notices the silence that follows.

"Fuck," Jared utters, leaning his head back until it rests against the wall behind the bed, eyes shut tight.

"Yeah?"

"My fucking head."

"Well," Jensen says in a vaguely indifferent tone, "I'm not surprised."

"Nngh."

"Take a painkiller, drink a glass of water and get some exercise, it'll be gone by the time we get to work."

"Better fucking be."

"Trust me."

Their eyes meet briefly before Jared pulls himself back together to drink again. He shudders visibly, pulls up his knees and leans his head into them like he did the night before. Jensen watches him for a moment, then drinks the rest of his coffee and stands up.

"I'm gonna get dressed and get my face done. Join us when you're ready."

"Don't put that shit music on. If it's on when I come in, I'm going to throw the whole fucking player out the door."

"Duly noted," Jensen sighs as he switches into a pair of jeans and prepares to leave.

When he's by the bedroom door, however, Jared calls him by name, making him turn around again. He lifts his brows in question, but it takes a moment for the other to speak.

"Can you top tonight?" Jared finally asks in an uncertain tone.

A small wave of excitement rushes through Jensen's body, centering both in his chest as an anxious tightness and in his crotch as a hopeful jolt, but he doesn't let any of that show on his expression as he waits a while before answering.

"You've got to earn it, Jay," he says then in a convincingly hesitant voice, "so keep that in mind today."

"Earn it? What the fuck do I have to earn it for? I'm not asking to fuck _you_ , I'm asking -"

"Yeah," Jensen cuts him off, "and that doesn't make a difference. It doesn't matter if you want to fuck or if you want to be fucked, you've got to work for it. I know it takes a shitload of trust for you to ask this and even more to go through with it, but I'm not here to serve you, Jay. If you're an asshole, I don't want to play with you, and I don't have to do it out of pity either. So - get used to it."

"That's bullshit, Jensen."

"No, it isn't. You should get dressed, or you'll be late anyway."

 And with that, Jensen leaves the room, closing the door behind him so that anything that Jared tries to shout after him he can pretend he didn't hear.

 

* * *

 

Jensen keeps half an eye on the man throughout the first half of the day. The other one's constantly blinded by the spotlights and pearls of sweat clinging to his skin despite the fans blowing at max speed from multiple angles, but by meal time, he has to admit that the day has been strangely quiet and uneventful. They've gone through an entire scene without incident, and most the time he barely sees Jared around between the takes: he seems to blend into the shadows whenever he isn't needed, get out of the way perhaps solely to make sure that nothing or no one gets inbetween him and his reward later, or just because the heat is lesser by ten degrees or so away from the crowd. He's anxious and twitchy, constantly repeating light sets of exercises to keep himself occupied, and he's wearing a permanent look of dissatisfaction on his features, but whatever he's holding back behind that glare, he's holding back well.

And Jensen's got to give it to him: he's really, really trying.

The other half of the day is less than perfect, but not because of Jared. Misha's in the middle of some catastrophe he tries very hard to make the crew care about but which seems to flow in one ear and out the other for everybody, and in the wake of it, Jensen can't seem to keep his lines straight either. From the shade, they can all hear Jared's snarls whenever the cut is called before he can enter the set - Jensen tries to give him some kind of a warning, a meaningful look or a grunt when they pass by each other, but Jared avoids him like the plague.

It's a first for that, Jensen thinks when he falls into his chair and takes a long, desperate sip through the straw stuck in his ice cold carrot juice. Usually it's him running for the hills at the sight of his co-star.

During another break, he tries to immerse himself in his lines, run through the scene in his head and by acting it out with thin air somewhere the hell away from everybody else in what has become something like a dark alley between a motel room set and another room that has no paint or furniture inside yet. He hears the people moving about on the other side of the wall, hears the sounds of them adjusting and fixing what they must before the filming can resume, when suddenly he raises his head mid-line and startles to a tall figure coming towards him out of seemingly thin air. He gasps for air, makes a choked sound and closes his eyes when Jared's shape presses against him; his presence moves them against the back of the motel room set, and Jared's kissing him hard, one hand wrapped around Jensen's wrist and the other cradling his waist. Heat burns at Jensen's cheeks even as his fingers feel ice cold: he's not returning the kiss, but instead looking around with terrified, wide eyes, afraid to see someone walking in on them. But there's no one there. It's just the two of them in this small, dusty walkway between two fake rooms in a hall packed with other people who should never, ever get a glimpse of what is going on just barely out of their view. He struggles, makes a whimpering sound, and Jared's body presses against his again and he smells of cologne and a coat of fresh sweat. It's like drowning, and Jensen doesn't know what to do; his lips part, not to accept the kiss but out of confusion in a moment he's lost his self-awareness, and he's got the tip of Jared's tongue running along his lip the very second it happens.

Swallowing, he closes his eyes and just lets it happen.

The kiss fades, and Jared's cheek crosses across Jensen's as he leans to breathe in his ear.

"Have I been good, master?" he whispers in a breathless manner, "A good fucking dog like you want me to be?"

 _Something_ stirs in Jensen. A sharp shiver rushes through his spine and he lets out a breath. He's shaking from nerves, trembling as he puts his palm between their bodies and pushes Jared away. Their eyes meet, Jared's cold and hard and burning with aggression, and Jensen's trying to reach for some fake shred of confidence or a facade imitating a lack of caring. He swallows again, tries out his tongue inside his mouth - how it bends, or if it bends at all, around the words he wants to push out. Then he forces his mouth to twitch in what he hopes seems a careless, even sneering manner. Like nothing about Jared threatens him now. Like he doesn't care about the push.

All dogs test their trainers.

"You're trying," he says and the calm tone of his low, quiet voice surprises him, "I don't know if I expected that."

It throws Jared off: his weight shifts, and he throws a glance to the side as if to find the confidence that ran from him. Then he faces Jensen again and stares at him for a long while before leaning in again, but Jensen presses the tips of his fingers over the man's chin to keep him at a distance, feeling the rough texture of his stubble against his skin.

"Not here. Not where everyone can see."

"Let them. Fucking let them, I don't give a shit."

Jensen sighs. He wants to roll his eyes, too, but forces his gaze to focus upon Jared's instead. He's still pushing. Still testing him.

"No. You don't. I think we've reached an understanding on that. But I care, and you should pay attention to what I care about, Jay, if you want your treat."

Jared grunts, but Jensen ignores it.

"Keep your head straight and pull off the rest of the day like you've done so far. You're doing good. You really are."

Jared's gaze flickers away from Jensen's again, but this time, it seems because he simply doesn't know what to do with a compliment. When he looks back at Jensen, some of the force in his eyes has dispersed. The corner of his mouth twists and he shrugs, turns and walks away a few steps before spinning around and cocking his head towards the exit.

"Wanna run your lines?" he asks.

A soft huff escapes Jensen as his body relaxes. He nods.

"I'd love that, yeah."

 

* * *

 

He makes sure not to bump into Jared on the way out the studios. He pickpockets a key for later use, and then waves at a couple coworkers to hitch a ride up to Vancouver, where they all eat lunch and talk - or, mostly, Jensen's quietly staring out the window, witnessing the slow fall of darkness over the scenery outside, while the rest of them talk. Sometimes he pokes in, but mostly people tend to smile at him politely regardless of what he's saying, and _no one_ wants to hear him talk about the food, or tell them where that meat on their plates came from, so he spares his voice the trouble. Around six, when they're all still in the middle of finishing up their desserts, he feels his phone vibrate.

"Hey," he mutters into it with his lips bending over the straw in his drink.

"Where the fuck are you?" Jared asks him, his voice strained and - anxious? Angry? Jensen can't decide.

He waits a moment, sucks iced tea out of the glass and savours the taste. Then he wipes his mouth and leans back in the seat; no one's noticed him talking, but he's still going to watch his every word.

"Eating lunch with some of the crew," he replies casually.

"Where?"

"Vancouver. Near the harbour."

Again, he waits, and Jared gives him a long time to do so. He seems to be at a loss for words, and it's interesting to Jensen. How will he take it? How will he deal with knowing that Jensen's existence isn't tied to him, that regardless of his behaviour, Jensen's world won't revolve around him? He can hear Jared breathing, or rather, missing out on breaths and then huffing them out. The line rattles as he moves the phone, and there's a sound of something else in the background - a knocking sound of something hard hitting another hard surface. A cup of coffee, perhaps, or some kind of a heavy item, glass or ceramic or heavy hard plastic.

"You made a fucking promise to me, Jensen," Jared finally states in a growling tone.

"Yeah," Jensen replies casually.  
He tilts his drink and watches the golden liquid settle at an angle, spreading around and enveloping the bottom of an ice cube. 

"Yeah? Yeah fucking _what_?"

"Yeah, I made you a promise, Jay."

He says the name quietly, watching the rest of the diners carefully. Nobody's looking at him. They're laughing at some joke and he's just the outsider, a mandatory no one whose status demanded them to take him with them.

Good. It's like camouflage.

"So where the fuck are you?" Jared asks, and his voice, this time, betrays more than just frustration - it hints at desperation.

Fear, maybe. Of abandonment, betrayal?

Oh, he's angry.

Jensen sips at his drink again and breathes. It's so much easier with a few miles between them. He draws the phone off his ear and checks the clock, then presses it back.

"I'll be a while," he says in a calm voice.

"A while?"

"Yeah. I'll call a ride back when we're done, but I won't meet you straight up after that. So - walk your dogs, entertain yourself, and I'll meet you at 11:15 near the studio. _Past_ the gate. I've got something planned up I think you'll like."

He's pushed Jared way off his comfort zone and it's like watching science unfold.

"Just fucking get back here now!"

Jensen smiles.  
"Nah," he replies, "Can't do that." 

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because," he carries on and really, off Jared's presence it's just _so_ easy to get on his nerves, "I'm in the middle of something. But I haven't forgotten or anything. It's okay, Jay. Just get ready. It'll be fun."

"Fuck. Jensen. Fuck you."

"Thought it was the other way around?"

A silence.

"You still want that, right?" Jensen asks, this time more gently; he's still smiling.

"Why the fuck are you toying with me?"

It's Jensen's turn to be quiet for a moment. He drinks again and gives it a good long thought - yeah. Why?

He watches his co-workers, meets someone's eye and flashes him a smile, tapping at his phone with a fingertip to indicate he's off the conversation for the time being. The other man flashes him a polite smile, too, and returns to chatting with the rest of them.

"Because," Jensen finally starts, "you don't own me, you know. I don't think you've realised that yet. I'm not there for your instant gratification. I have my own life."

"Your fucking life doesn't involve restaurants, Jensen. You sit in your fucking trailer and drink tea and listen to shitty discount hippy music while you chase some bullshit mind orgasm. None of those people even _like_ you."

It hits. Again, Jensen lets his eyes wander over the people in the table with him. Ain't that the truth.

He trails his finger through the moisture gathering over the glass he's holding and subdues the ache in his chest by emptying the drink.

"You know they don't like you either, superstar," he finally says.

"They'd kill to be me. Any one of them."

"Yeah. Wouldn't anyone just kill to be you," Jensen scoffs, "All broken and fucked up inside. Go read your fanmail. Take a shower or something. I don't care. I need to finish up here and I'll be there at 11:15. Meet up with me then or don't meet me at all, it's not a big loss for me either way."

He hangs up the call and closes his eyes. Then, against the suddenly crushing sense of separation and loneliness, he leans into the table and starts talking.

 

* * *

 

The wind's picked up and the heat is finally bowing down to a cold front when Jensen settles against the studio's wall. He's not really supposed to be here, and neither is he supposed to be where he's headed: he plays around with the stolen key in his pocket as he gazes directly into the security camera, wondering what they'll make of it if someone decides to break into the area tonight and someone reviews the tape and sees... whatever they're about to see. But this isn't the first time he's been lurking around the premises after most of the activity in the area has died down: there's no one filming in the nearby buildings, and whatever commotion still exists in the area will stay off their lot - or at least that's what Jensen hopes. 

Next, he checks his watch. It's pointing 11:16 in the night. He's on time, but the rest of the lot seems empty. The rows of trailers a little further away look like black outlines against the faint light shining from the windows of his own.

11:18.

11:20.

Jensen closes his eyes.

11:24.

He doesn't hear Jared before he speaks. The first sound makes him perk up and peer out of his left eye; the man's appearance gets him to open both.

"There better be a fucking reason I'm wasting another night in that trailer. I could be taking a bath in my apartment right now instead of being stuck here," the man growls, but Jensen barely hears him.

Fuck.

White v-neck, black jacket, black beanie and a pair of bleached jeans; he doesn't look much different from the way he usually does, but there's something in the way he carries himself tonight that catches Jensen's breath. Meanwhile, he's still wearing the same set from earlier in the day - a red flannel on top of a black shirt, worn jeans and his watch, with Dean's boots peeking out from under all the rest. Not much to impress with, and they probably smell the part by now.

"We're not supposed to be here," Jared tells him as if he didn't know that yet, eyeing him suspiciously while he's still picking himself off the ground.

A nervous smile lights Jensen up.

"Don't you like living on the edge?" he asks, nodding towards the parking lot, "C'mon."

"Where the fuck are we going? Let's just go back and fuck."

"Don't be boring."

"Jensen, I'm fucking tired of this game."

"Just a little bit further."

Jensen listens to Jared's steps following him close by, and they turn around a corner to another off-limits area.

"What the fuck are we doing here?"

A firm grip of Jensen's flannel stops him and forces him to turn, if not quite completely. It's dark here, with the light towards the parking lot still busted. He examines what little he can see of Jared's face against the lights from behind him, and then untangles his hand from around his shirt, which turns out to be harder than he imagined. In the end he manages to get through it and quickly steps out of the man's reach as if starting a dance of some sort; Jared steps after him, tries to catch him, but he steps out of reach again.

"Trust me," he tells Jared and turns his back to him.

 _Trust_ isn't in Jared's vocabulary tonight. He walks faster until he's almost even with Jensen, but every time he comes close enough, Jensen evades him into a direction or another, anywhere to make sure he stays always a step far enough to avoid being grabbed again. And then they are there: the row of black Impalas sits idly exactly where they left them earlier. The light from further away reflects still from the hoods. Jensen counts down from the first one and stops beside the third; he sits lightly on it, fingers digging inside his pocket for the key that quite nearly burns at his fingertips by now. Jared stops beside him and eyes him suspiciously.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing," Jensen replies calmly, patting the hood underneath him like the car was a living beast he needs to pacify first.

He's never felt much of a connection to it, or any of the others, beyond that which he has to pretend for a living, but it's a big thing and he can almost imagine a spirit of some sort within it. And he knows Jared likes them, feels like he owns at least one of them. Maybe this one. Jensen runs his fingertips over the metal again before pulling his hand back on his lap.

"They'll fucking fire us if they find out we're fucking around the cars -"

"Nah."

"Nah?"

Jensen looks at the camera pointing towards the cars. He stares at it like he stared at the previous one, challengingly.

"Nah," he repeats, then looks at Jared, "They won't know unless somebody tells them. But you're right about one thing, or at least, pretty close to being right."

They stare at each other now - Jensen with a calm expression although his heart is racing like mad, and Jared with an annoyed, yet uncomfortable look; he doesn't know what to make of this. Doesn't know what power he holds here, or what to expect from Jensen.

"What the _fuck_ are you talking about?" he asks, and his discomfort is clear from his voice.

"We'll be fucking around the cars. Or _in_ one."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"They'll fucking fire us."

Jensen shrugs.  
"Well, it's not like we can't afford it." 

"I like my fucking job."

"Yeah. But you always say you could get any other job if you wanted, so it's not a big deal if you lose this one. Or is it? Do you think no one will take you after the rumours of you being bisexual start going around?"

Jared snarls. He shifts and glances over at the camera, too; he waits for a moment before shifting again and looking back at Jensen. Then, with a challenging look, he starts taking off his jacket.

"You've got the keys?" he asks.

Jensen smirks.

"Get on the hood, pretty boy. It'll be a nice contrast to your skin."

 

* * *

 

Jared's mouth tastes like warm, dry red wine. It's in his breath, too, but he's not drunk - rather, it seems that he took one glass before leaving, and its taste still lingers on him for Jensen to drink away. He's between the man's thighs, the heat of his groin strong enough to penetrate Jensen's jeans, and he's kissing back even if he's still annoyed and still tense with nerves.

He really doesn't want to get caught. Well, he should have thought about that before he put Jensen against the set's wall in public. Should have thought about that before Jensen realised he'd love to spread him on the hood of the car right here in plain view under nothing but the veil of darkness and the hopes of not being interrupted - the chances are, really, that someone will see them. And what then?

Jensen huffs into the kiss and cups Jared's cock through his jeans, and he shudders and gives a small sound, but he's holding back with all he's got, trying to be quiet.

"Wouldn't you -"  
Jensen nips at the man's lower lip, then sucks the upper one, dragging the sour taste from him.  
"- love for someone to watch us now? Through the cameras?"

Jared lets out an undecipherable sound and leans towards Jensen, kissing him again, and Jensen gets the feeling that he's just trying to shut him up. For that reason alone, he draws back and presses his hand into Jared's chest, the other still pushing, grinding against his cock below.

"Wouldn't you? Wouldn't you just _love_ for someone to look at you? Isn't that your thing?"

He loves how uncomfortable he's making Jared. _Loves_ it, every last fucking drop of it.

"Oh, but -"  
He turns to sucking at his neck next.  
"- you'd want to be in control there. You need that, don't you. Just being exposed like this makes you feel... vulnerable."

"Shut the fuck up, Ackles."

"You're so fucking pretty, Jay."

Jared tenses, leans his head back.

"So, so fucking pretty. I saw you and I fucking wanted you. Wanted to be inside you again. Just - imagined you spread over the car and, fuck."

The other man's not quite hard yet, but Jensen doesn't really mind. He's hard himself, anyway. Really, really fucking hard.

"You were such a good boy today."

" _Don't_ -"

"Shh."

"Nnh."

He's warm all over. The pit between his collarbones, his chest, his stomach, his sides, his thighs, everything about him's just _warm_. Jensen's hands push between the layers of clothing and strip them off; first the shirt, then the belt, then the jeans, and he's surprised that the man's not wearing any sort of underwear underneath. He moves down his body, palm steadying Jared by the middle, and kisses him over his cock. The Impala underneath them reflects their black shapes and nothing more, but it's familiar and somehow seems to reinforce whatever connection Jensen feels to _Jared_ , even if he has little to none to the car itself; it's something that ties them together, something that's connected them for a decade. It knows them, perhaps better than they know each other.

He sucks Jared off until he's hard enough for his liking, but no more than that, not even when the man's palm tries to press his head back down when he pulls up. He ignores the frustrated groan leaving Jared's throat and just undoes his own zipper instead, pulls out his cock and presses it against Jared's; he rubs them together, and his own saliva makes each movement slide effortlessly, but he doesn't keep that on for long either - just long enough to tease himself.

"Kick off the jeans," he hears himself say breathlessly as he backs off, tucks his cock back in and pulls out his phone instead, "Wanna take another picture."

"Jensen, _no._ "

"Why not?"  
He's grinning. Jared's decidedly not, but he's got the tip of his shoe indecisively digging into his jeans anyway, half-assedly pulling at them as if to take them off but not quite going that far. Just implying - just _going_ to do it.

"Because - it's -"

"Evidence?"

Jared shrugs.

Jensen brushes his finger over the other's cheek and smiles crookedly.  
"Just for me. Right? Like we made the videos. They're private. This is private. I won't go sending it out to anyone. No, not even if you really piss me off. I promise." 

"Then take it on my phone."

Jensen lifts his brows, but lowers his phone and then puts it back in his pocket. He sees Jared's shape relax visibly as he does so, and the man lifts himself up and bends over for just long enough to have his phone at hand. He unlocks it and holds it out for Jensen to take.

"Thanks," Jensen says - it comes out as a reflex.

Jared shrugs again. He leans back, kicks his jeans off and pulls one foot onto the Impala, and he looks really, really good there. The flash of the phone ruins only so much of the moment, and Jensen keeps looking at the picture for a while before chuckling and handing the phone back to Jared.

"Look good to you?" he asks and watches the man as he considers the result.

A small huff leaves Jared and he drops the phone onto his pants on the ground.  
"Don't step on that." 

"Won't do."

They merge again. While the kiss carries on, Jensen digs out the squished tube from his pocket.

"You ready?" he asks into the kiss, "Anything you wanna complain about before I've got a couple fingers in your ass?"

"When the fuck did you change, Jensen?" Jared fires another right onto his mouth.

"I don't know. Survival of the fittest, I guess. Adapt or die."

"Mm."

"Anything else?"

"Don't fucking ever call me a good boy again."

Jensen lets it sink in for a moment - his first instinct is to laugh, to throw it back in Jared's face, but he reconsiders fast enough to stop himself. He slows down, leans into the car and looks the other man in the eye, and Jared stares right back at him, expressionless enough to seem threatening. Jensen doesn't know how to ask why it matters so much, so ultimately, he doesn't; instead he gives Jared a short nod. He'll respect it, whatever the reason.

"Alright. So, are you ready or not?"

"Stop fucking asking me."

A short smile later Jensen's dipping his fingers in the lube, leaving the thing next to them on the hood and slipping his hand between Jared's legs. He's watching him still, looking at his face, but Jared's escaping; he's got his eyes closed and a slight frown on his features, but he spreads his legs when he feels Jensen moving between them and lifts the other further up on the car to stay in that position. He's slipping - less so than he would with his clothes on, but noticeably still.

"Talk to me," Jensen urges him, his wet fingertip pressing against the man's hole, making a circle and spreading the lube over him, "You've gotten so damn quiet lately."

"Maybe because you never shut up," Jared mutters.  
He shifts a little, palm sliding over the hood as if looking for sheets to grab and hold onto. 

"No, I don't think it's that. But alright, I'll play."

He's hot, wet and tight inside. So damn tight - unusually so. Jensen strokes his thumb along Jared's thigh as far as he can reach - not that far - and wishes he could pick up his palm from the car's hood and do something with it, but he needs the balance, needs to lean forwards, to finger the guy loose enough for sex.

"You were - pretty much dressed to kill tonight, huh," he says quietly with a small chuckle topping it, "Got something to say in your defense?"

"Nothing. You liked it?"

"Yeah. I, um. Liked it a lot."

His body's still gripping hard, as if he's dead set on holding Jensen's finger still inside him. A breeze travels across them and Jensen sniffs a little, catching himself from missing the warmth of his bed. And Jared's not wrong - it's not the trailer bed he's missing. It's the big one in his rental apartment downtown, the one wide enough to fit three bodies in and thick enough to bury one inside. With the void mysteriously gone from within him, the vastness of a king-size bed no longer scares him so much.

"Noticed you working that mirror again earlier."

"Mmh."

"You ever get off like that, Jay?"

"Like how?"

Jensen dares to push his finger up to the second knuckle. He bends it a little, draws the tip of it along the other's smooth flesh, wondering if he could - maybe in a different pose - find his prostate in there. It's probably deeper than this, anyway.

"Watching yourself in the mirror," he clarifies, pushing his finger back in again after pulling it out almost completely first.

A hint of a smile crosses Jared's features. He adjusts and peers at Jensen lazily before spreading his legs again and bending his head back, a sharp sigh leaving his lips.

"Maybe," he says in a purring voice, "What, you like that?"

"Do you film yourself, too?"

The man nods.  
"Yeah. I do." 

"With others?"

"What others? You know I film with you."

"I thought you were married."

Jared huffs.  
"Yeah, sometimes." 

"You're only married sometimes?" Jensen chuckles, rubbing his middle finger against the wet, hot flesh. Not quite relaxed enough to let that in yet.

"Idiot."

"Mm," and Jensen's smiling - kind of enjoying this all, really, more than he thought he would be, "Do you - keep like a library of sex tapes somewhere?"  
  
Jared pulls his arm under his head and watches Jensen for a moment before allowing a crooked smile on his face and shaking his head.  
"No. We delete most of them. Privacy issues, mostly, you can't - ever really be certain they're locked up firmly enough." 

"I guess that's true. But based on that logic, we should really delete ours, too, and I don't think you're going to do that."

Jared shrugs.  
"Maybe one day, I don't know. After you've accidentally posted them on Twitter."

 "I can post videos on Twitter?"

They watch each other in silence for a second.  
  
"Yeah," Jared says then, one brow rising slightly, "Do you even - how do you function, Jensen?" 

Finally, the finger slides in alongside the other. It's Jensen's turn to shrug.

"I don't even like the thing."

"Big surprise."

"Oh, shush. Just be grateful I won't be posting our sex tape on there anytime soon. But hey, since we're here, technically the studio security will have one, too."

Jared grimaces.  
"Jensen, if someone ever actually looks at these tapes, I'm going to kill you. Not kidding." 

"Remember to film that, too, so you can leak it from prison."

Jared lets out a small chuckle. For some time after, neither of them speaks, and he closes his eyes again and rests over the hood - he's big, but not quite big enough to fill up his frames. His cock's only half-hard again, but Jensen doesn't pay much attention to it; his fingers work steadily inside him, still trying to locate his prostate even though the mission isn't ranked very high on his list of priorities. He's going soft around Jensen, though; relaxed and loose, easy to stretch more. In the end, Jensen presses a third finger against him and he makes a small sound, opening his eyes once more.

Jared looks towards the other end of the parking lot - the only direction that conceivably could present them a witness, or a victim, depending on the willingness of the one walking in on them. He stares there with a distant look in his eyes, the lights reflecting in them but not quite clearly enough to show any colour, and Jensen leans down to kiss his stomach and his ribs, the only area he can reach without leaning over. Jared's fingers bend against the Impala again, dragging slowly over the waxed surface.

"I'm beautiful," he states to the parking lot.

"Mm. Yeah. Water is wet."

Their eyes meet again and Jared laughs dryly.

"For a long time I honestly kinda thought you were blind. You didn't care."

"Nobody really cares, Jay."

The man lifts his foot off the Impala and kicks Jensen in the chest, but not hard enough for it to hurt. It's almost playful. Jensen regains balance quickly enough and thrusts his fingers inside the other, teasing another small, low sound out of him.

"He used to tell me that," Jared says breathlessly as he recovers, turning his gaze away once more: his muscles tense up again and Jensen slows down, watching him.

"Who?" Jensen asks, then adds; "What?"

"The guy who raped me. Told me that I was a good boy. Or a bad boy. I guess it depended on his mood more than mine. I don't like hearing that now."

"Yeah, I... bet. Don't think about that, okay? I feel dirty fingering you while you're talking about it."

"You know what else he did?"

"Jesus, Jay." 

"Took me out for rides in his car. So - you know."

Jensen closes his eyes and leans further down to breathe.

"I don't - Jared. I honestly just don't want to hear about that."

"Yeah. I didn't want to live it, either."

His skin's smooth but the night's turned the surface cool. Jensen moves his palm over Jared's stomach and feels it rise and fall steadily, quietly. He holds his hand there for some time before stepping back, his other hand's fingers sliding out of the other's body.

"You're 30, Jay."

"Kinda old."

"Not really. But you're not 10 anymore, either. It's over."

"It's never really over."

The coolness vanishes quickly from his skin when Jensen leans over him again, covers his body with his own and kisses him. He's careful not to touch him with his dirty fingers, but whatever else remains of his hand brushes over his cheek and ear anyway, past the fabric of his beanie that still covers his head.

"You know you're safe here, right?" he asks him, their lips still touching.

A warm, sarcastic-sounding chuckle hits his face - it still retains the light scent of wine.

"I don't really give a fuck," Jared says, and despite the discomfort Jensen feels, the way he spells the words somehow still manages to arouse him.

He shivers and pulls back, examining Jared as he does. Then, with one brow lifted, he shrugs and kneels down far enough to get his mouth on the man's thighs. Another one of those purring growls leaves Jared's throat, muffled by his firmly-shut lips, and he reaches a hand to grip his own knee as if to hold down his leg for Jensen to kiss, and Jensen keeps doing it for a good while, running the whole length of his inner thigh from the bony bump of the side of his knee all the way down to his groin where the skin is warmest and tickles his lips with a layer of curly dark hair.

"You really worried about getting fired over this, Jay?"

"Mmh."

"So then - why weren't you worried earlier today?"

"Why the fuck were you all up in arms about _that_ , but then trick me into this the same fucking day?" Jared asks him back, and Jensen pulls up again, leaning over him until the front of his jeans presses against the man's exposed hips on the car.

"I don't like feeling vulnerable," he says calmly, "I think we share that feeling."

Another breeze and the headlights of a passing car remind them both how utterly exposed they are here, and Jensen, as if his body wanted to confirm his confession, shivers to the thought of someone seeing them here.

Vulnerability. Yeah. He's dealt with it his whole life - never quite being the same as other guys, never quite liking the same things. Horses, theatre, healthy eating, long-term committed relationships - the only thing he ever really shared with at least a fraction of the other guys his age was God, the one common denominator of all people, or at least a fair few in Texas. He learned to pretend from an early age and maybe that was what made him a good actor later on, good enough to grab his own show and end up... here, for better or worse.

He leans over Jared and kisses the pit between his collarbones gently, and the thoughtful manner he does so earns him a dissatisfied sigh from the other man. When he looks him in the eye, Jared's staring into the distance again. Carefully, Jensen presses a finger inside him again, and his eyes flutter, then close; he breathes in deep and holds the air in for a moment before letting it out and turning back to staring into the distance.

"What do you like about me?" he asks from the row of cars to their left side, "Physically. I don't want your emotional bullshit again."

"Didn't we play this game once already?" Jensen says with a hint of a crooked smile on him.

"You only play games once?"

Jared's gaze lingers over his, and Jensen watches the slightest changes in his expression as he keeps fingering him. Subconsciously, he runs his tongue over his lips and swallows thickly, catching himself from it in a sudden wave of self-awareness only when Jared's definitely registered it happening.

"Alright," he huffs, feeling like he lost this round, "But only if you take turns, too. And I want you to start, Jay. So - what do you like about me?"

"Ugh."

Jensen chuckles quietly as Jared turns away again, a slight frown over his features. He presses closer, seeking the warmth of his body to combat the minor chill over his own, and God, he's wearing clothes, but Jared isn't - they can't drag on the foreplay forever or he'll catch a cold from this. The surprising thing, however, is that Jared himself hasn't complained yet.

Maybe all that sweating comes with a silver lining.

"Your lips," the man finally says, "I like your mouth."

"Yeah?"  
It's not really a surprise. A lot of people seem attracted to that: they're good cock-sucking lips, someone's commented more than once. The compliment, if it's ever meant as such, leaves Jensen feeling mostly uncomfortable.  
"Alright. Well, I like your hips."

He runs his free palm over Jared's waist and over the bump of his hip, pressing down just enough to feel the soft layers giving way to the firm shape of the bone underneath.  
"Like the trail, too," he carries on for an extra round as his fingertips cross over the dark trail of hair running up Jared's belly.

The touch makes Jared's abs contract, and Jensen huffs to it; he tickles him in passing just to see that annoyed look he gives him, then withdraws his hand and presses it back over the car.

"You're not too short," Jared throws back at him, digging his head back and closing his eyes.

"People usually register me as tall, but thanks."

"I'm not used to fucking people who are my size or even close to it; it always feels like I need to watch everything I do or they'll break. You won't. You can take it."

"You scared of breaking people after all, huh?"

"Have you ever fucking slept with a woman? You don't want to bruise that."

"I've never noticed you having any issue bruising _me_ up."

"As I said, you can take it."

Jensen considers it for a while. No, the bruises don't bother him. It's the source of them that does. The memories associated with them. So perhaps Jared is half-right there - yes, he can take a bruise, a rug-burn and some clawed-up skin. In the heat of it, he'd almost go as far as to say that he enjoys them. The shitty taste comes afterwards, the regret and the guilt and the nagging doubt. If he knew he was safe there, if he knew none of those things bore ill intent towards him, would it be different? His throat knots up as he withdraws his finger and finally undoes his belt.

"I love the fact that you're a man," he confesses, eyes firmly upon the waxed hood beneath them.

"Really?" Jared asks, his voice vaguely resembling surprise.

"Yeah. It's - it turns me on. I never get that with women. The thought of sleeping with them doesn't get me all worked up. The thought of sleeping with you... does."  
He dares to look Jared in the eye again, but mostly only because his thoughts are somewhere else entirely, and the sight of the man in front of him is just that - a view, not a connection.  
"I like sleeping with women. It's not that I don't. But I've never felt like this about it. It's - I get fucking excited about us, when it's not, when you're not being a complete fucking dick about it. I don't know why. Maybe it's just because it's new, I don't know, but it's - it's different." 

"Jensen."

"Yeah?"

"Are you gay?"

"What?"

"Are you gay?"

It takes some effort to unstuck Jensen's tongue from the top of his mouth.  
"No," he growls annoyedly, "I just told you, I love women. I can't explain it."

Jared shrugs.  
  
"Whatever," he says in the most annoying, superior, patronizing voice he can muster.  
Then he reaches for Jensen, sits up as he does so, and undoes his zipper for him.  
"Fuck me before I freeze to death."

 

* * *

 

Jensen moves inside him a little more eagerly than he intended to. It earns him a grunt of discomfort from Jared and a firm nail-tinted grip around his shoulder, but he ignores it in the flood of pleasure he feels: his cock is _aching_ as he thrusts into Jared's body, and the sensation of filling him up nearly knocks air right out his lungs. His hand trembles as he lets go of his cock, either from tension or from the chilly air, and he plants it on the car right next to Jared's shoulder and starts rocking into him, the creaky sounds of the vehicle beneath them rocking in rhythm with his thrusts filling the space around them. That very specific soundsphere heats up Jensen's ears; he tries hard not to glance around every two seconds or so, but the more noise they make there, the more aware he is of the openness of the space around them.

Maybe not one of his brightest ideas, in retrospect. The key, still somewhere in the pocket of his jeans now pooling around his ankles, seems to still burn at his skin through the fabric; he could have chosen that instead but no, it just _had_ to be outdoors.

In the end, however, he's not even completely certain they'd fit inside the car like this. They're big guys, both of them; how would he ever fold Jared up into a small enough space to take him on the backseat? The Impala's not the biggest car in the world - and the two of them would need a truck for fucking. Even with the front seat's back pulled down... he's not sure it'd work out.

Jared's palms warm up his sides through his shirts that he's never taken off, a privilege not granted to the man underneath him, who's completely exposed. It turns Jensen on, somehow - fucking him with his clothes still on, but having every inch of Jared's body laid out for him to view. Every now and then, some half-uttered curse word breaks the relative silence between them and they need to stop to readjust; the hood slopes downwards and the wax, while nowhere near as slippery under bare skin as it would be against clothes, doesn't keep Jared as still as they'd need him to be. In the end, Jensen grabs him by the arms and manhandles him way up on the hood, and then keeps fucking him with his body almost completely on top of Jared's: the car's quiet in that pose, bent too far down to really give out those steady whimpers under their movements. And he feels like he owns this man now. The idea of complete control drives Jensen mad somehow, rushes his brain with so many endorphines at once he feels like he's drowning in them: he presses his palm against Jared's face and closes his eyes, head bending down until his forehead touches Jared's chest and feels the heartbeat within.

_Mine. All fucking mine._

The sudden flood of possessiveness, of raw need to control and own, scares Jensen somewhat. It's one of those impulses he's grown aware of within the past few months, slowly taking root and growing within him; first, the need to fight back. And now this. Now... _this._

"So fucking good for me, Jay," he breathes out - gasps, "Doing good."

The fingers holding over his left side turn to nails and leave blushing crescents into his skin, but don't drag any raw lines onto him, rather fading back into a firm, steady hold again. Jared's thighs press against his hips as if to hammer it home that he's inside him, the sound of flesh against flesh muffling from the lack of space but the sheer experience of melting into a single entity seems to multiply the more he holds onto Jensen. He's... whimpering, making small, high-pitched but drowned-out sounds with every thrust, skin sweat-stained and sticky against the metal underneath, and Jensen rocks into him harder and faster to keep those sounds coming, to make them louder, against the drumming of consciousness in the back of his skull telling him that someone _will_ find them if he keeps doing that - he just... can't seem to care enough to stop, either. It's a strange paradox: his every muscle is tense from the fear alone, but the pleasure he feels is too intense to interrupt, too driving to ignore. His stomach rests against Jared's, the man's cock trapped between them, and he feels it with every move he makes, the awareness of its existence downright blinding him with heat. He's leaking inside already - dripping precome with every move he makes, he's certain about it even though the wetness of the man's body around him makes it impossible to register by feeling. It comes with the pressure of a building orgasm and God, he's not holding back; he's in with most of his cock, the tightness of the hole around him just enough to make him feel welcome but still give him the best kind of friction from each thrust.

"So fucking good," he mutters again, teeth now finding the skin of Jared's neck to taste and tear at.

He doesn't really feel the tension in the other's body growing before he feels the push against his ribs, and at first, he ignores that as well, too driven up in his own head to find it alarming in any way. Then the breathless repetition of his name starts, and at first, he ignores that, too; he's used to having his name moaned out loud while having sex, even if he's never really had that from Jared before. None of that just really registers to him - it's somewhere beyond his consciousness, and his consciousness, well, it's damn well locked up behind the rut that floods his veins.

"Stop" is the word that finally gets to him.

He slows down to a halt, lets out a held-back gasp and feels his vision clear up somewhat: he's frowning as he looks at Jared, his flushed cheeks and the paleness of his skin, the weird contrast between bloodflow and feverish, sickly whiteness.

"Hey," he breathes out, shivering, his hand charging back up over Jared's face, "Hey. You good?"

"Stop."

"Yeah. Yeah, I've - yeah."  
He doesn't know what the fuck to say. He's not moving. For all intents and purposes, he's stopped already.  
"Talk to me. Jay." 

Jared closes his eyes.  
" _Stop_." 

"I'm - Jay. Fuck."  
He backs out, feels his cock slowly slide out of the man's body. Then he presses close up again, ignoring the cold wetness of the lube between their bodies, and seeks out Jared's hand with his own, pulls it up against the car's hood and holds it tight.  
"Talk to me."

Jared shakes his head, his eyes still closed. He doesn't seem to be breathing right and Jensen's not sure if this should be enough to have him call a fucking ambulance already.

"What is it?" Fuck.

A small, choked-out sound leaves Jared's throat, but nothing more than that. He opens his eyes, but there's a strange look in them - glassed out, like he's not really seeing whatever's there in front of him. His fingertips are ice cold when Jensen runs his palm over his hand before holding it again. His own system is halted between the two extremes of intense arousal and some sort of worry-shock; it makes him dizzy and he's not entirely sure what happened, like the scene has suddenly changed without a warning.

"Did I hurt you?"

"Get - off me."

Jensen obeys like he's programmed to unquestioning submission. Then he's just standing there, awkwardly with his pants down, trying to cover up with the hem of his flannel, and Jared leans his leg over his crotch to imitate the same with the only means he's got. Jensen's not sure if he's allowed to touch him, so he doesn't, but the need burns just as urgently as ever to just do something, _anything,_ to try and sort the situation out. But if words don't work and he can't touch, then what the fuck is he supposed to be doing? Stiffly, he leans down and picks Jared's shirt up from the ground, dusts it off and places it on him. It seems to take him a moment to register it, but when he does, he lifts himself up from the hood and pulls it on, his entire body shaking.

"Jared..."

He shakes his head, palm pressing the shirt between his legs, his head hanging, eyes still staring at a big, damn long nothing ahead. And his cock, the little Jensen saw from the corner of his vision, was flaccid with no sign of arousal, and suddenly, he's not sure if it ever got past that point of half-hardness he left it at with his mouth before - he never, ever stopped to check.

"Hey. Jay."  
He kneels down in front of the car and places his hand carefully over the man's knee.  
"Look at me." 

What the fuck is going on?  
What did he do wrong? 

Jared turns towards him, and their eyes meet but they're not really looking at each other: it's only Jensen looking at Jared, and Jared still, stubbornly, seems to see nothing in return. It's like he's gone blind. Then, before Jensen manages to get another word out his mouth, Jared slips down the hood and stands up on two very weak legs, hand leaning down on the car as he moves around it to the side. He tilts his head vaguely towards it.

"Would you open the fucking door?" he asks in a hollow voice.

"Uh," Jensen says, "Sure."

He pulls up his jeans with a few uncertain tugs, zips them up and digs out the key. Jared steps aside for him to unlock the door and then vanishes inside, his head knocking into the frame as he passes but no hiss or any other sound signaling pain from the impact reaches Jensen's ears. He hesitates, but decides to follow the other in, and after the door closes they sit in the dark together for some time without a word or indeed a movement to break the silence. The lube feels uncomfortable all over Jensen's pubic hair, gluing it into his skin making him feel dirty and sticky, but he's not sure what to do about that any more than he's sure how to get through the situation. Should he just call it off, offer to walk Jared back to his trailer? Should he, against the fear and weight inside his head and heart, offer to talk about it?

No, Jared would just throw it in his face. He's adamant about picking the place and time for opening up, and now doesn't seem to be a good time to even try. As much as he wishes he didn't feel that way, Jensen finds that a relief; he really, really doesn't want to hear about it.

Not now, anyway.

Guilt gnaws at his insides, fed into a rage by his insecurity and confusion - did he go too hard? Did he ignore some signs before it got to this point? He can't recall any, but the more he thinks back to it, the more obvious the tension in Jared's body seems to get, and by the time Jared finally moves again he's convinced himself that he should have somehow known to read his mind much, much before he ended up causing him pain.

It takes him a moment to realise that Jared's climbing on his lap, mostly because the space the car allows them is so limited that it's only through a huge struggle that he even manages to tuck his knees deep enough into the seat to stay there firmly. He's breathing more steadily now when he leans over Jensen and kisses, no - sucks at his neck, tongue traveling up and behind his ear until his lips take its place and cross over Jensen's jaw before lifting from his skin. Conflicted, Jensen feels him rock his hips against his jeans, and he lifts one hand slowly to try and place it over Jared's waist. His palm presses against the inward curve below his ribcage and the heat of the man's body charges right against his skin through the thin shirt he's wearing even as his weight constantly rubs right into Jensen's confused erection.

"Jay -"

"Don't. Speak. Don't say anything. Don't talk to me."

"Uh."

Jensen swallows the 'okay' that's about to follow up before it quite gets onto his tongue, but then Jared's kissing him again. He doesn't know if he should answer that either, so he doesn't; he sits there, dead still, his body sinking into the leather seat and his cock hurting from the friction that still isn't anywhere good enough to get him off, and his head aches from the conflicting emotions and strange mixed signals he's getting. But Jared doesn't seem to care; his fingers dig between their bodies, discard the loose end of Jensen's belt and unzip his fly again. He tucks out Jensen's cock and moves his body over it, and Jensen lets out a pained little whimper when their bodies join again with ease and the man's intense heat and the softness of his body envelop him from all sides.

The car smells of another universe. Even as Jared's body moves up and down on his lap and he holds him now from both sides, hands gently guiding the rhythm, he's not quite there - a part of him has locked out, and he feels more like Dean than himself. The thought simultaneously turns him on and disgusts him, and he tries to shut it down, tries to convince himself that this has nothing to do with their characters, but maybe the car _wasn't_ the best idea; he closes his eyes, but it just makes things worse. Jared isn't helping, either. He's gone into that strange silent mode where Jensen can't read him, and in that serious, concentrated persona he sees a little too much Sam for his liking. He opens his eyes and looks at the beanie the man's wearing and it's that detail that seems to shake him out of the weird takeover of his body. Shaking, he reaches his hand to touch Jared's face again, presses his palm over his ear and runs his fingers across the soft fabric of his hat. He gains a glance from him, and Jared's hips press further down against him, dragging a quiet, surprised moan out of him as his cock sinks in as far as the pose allows them: not quite all the way, but deep enough to make him tense up with pleasure.

He wants to ask Jared if he's alright and if _this_ is alright, but he's afraid to speak - after all, Jared told him not to. Maybe it's what he needs, but it's so hard to trust his judgement without knowing where his mind's at - what if it isn't here? What if he's living some fucked up memory all over again and Jensen's playing the bad guy for him?

_You know what else he did? Took me out for rides in his car._

Jensen hisses, closes his eyes and brings Jared's body closer to his own. He's in a horribly uncomfortable-looking bend already, but when Jensen guides him down, he leans his forehead onto Jensen's shoulder and lets out a soft breath against his skin, his hips stilling for a moment before moving again. He feels so fucking fragile there, and something's changed about him, like he's not completely - like he's still in that half-way place somewhere between this world and whatever world he created for himself, and Jensen doesn't know how to shake him out of it. How to make him that hissing, spitting beast again.

"Jay, you've got to let me ask."

A growl breaks through between them, and Jared's nails dig into Jensen's skin in reaction to the words.

"What?" he asks sharply, and Jensen next feels his teeth over his collarbone.

There's nothing to hold on there, however, and the feeling fades soon enough.

"Who am I? Who are you with?" he asks, uncertain if he's making any sense.

Jared gives him no answer, just rocks down again, pressing himself so far it's got to hurt. Jensen sighs, hands returning to his hips to slow him down.

"Jared, who are you having sex with?"

"You. Fucking you. Who else are you seeing in here, Jensen? Just let me get off, I need to sleep."

"Then at least look at me," Jensen utters and tilts Jared's face upwards with his fingertips under his chin, "Look at me and I won't have to keep talking to you."

A small smile flashes over his lips when he gets that eye contact he's been looking for. At first the way Jared looks at him is defiant, angry, but it smooths into a weary, obedient gaze soon enough; Jared keeps looking at him and he keeps looking back with one hand now over his neck instead, trusting him to not hurt himself on purpose again. A thousand things cross his mind that he's aching to let out - that Jared's beautiful, that he feels good, that this is exactly how he wants to make love with him - but he holds his tongue and swallows the words, saving them for another time, the next time he feels like they're necessary and deserved, hoping it won't take too long for that time to come. Even when he gets lost in the rhythm and the steadily building climax inside him, he keeps looking back at Jared, and he enjoys every flutter of his lids, every time he has to hold his eyes closed for a prolonged amount of time, and when he feels him turning tense again, he runs his fist over Jared's cock and makes damn sure he's good and hard before starting to get him off in tune to his movements. At some point, Jared gives up on the eye contact again, but Jensen gives him that: their foreheads collide with a soft knock and Jensen closes his eyes to listen to Jared's soft pants, now soundless and still somewhat held-back but heavy and full of pleasure anyway. He tries his best to hold him steady and make sure he gets to move as freely as he can in the desperately limited amount of space he has, and the fingertips of the hand Jensen's keeping him in place with massage whichever muscles he can reach as if to keep him calm and relax him further. In the end, he bends to kiss Jared's neck just in time to feel him reach climax; his release comes in a few quiet waves between them, spreading over Jensen's hand and their bodies, and the pulsing of his muscles around Jensen's cock ensure that he doesn't last much longer himself.

For a moment, he's blind, and the world goes quiet if not for the rushing of blood inside his ears, and he can feel his own come flow into the man's body; he hears Jared's breath, that long, hitching gasp in response to the sensation, and he holds on a little bit tighter as his body shakes and his own breathing turns into a purring moan that comes out strangled through his tense throat. His palm runs over Jared's back all the way down to his tail bone, still covered by his shirt, and he pulls him as close as he can despite the displeased groan Jared lets out at being moved like that, and he holds them together for a while until the crashing waves have quieted down and he can finally think straight again.

Panting, he loosens his grip and Jared falls back over his lap seemingly with no intent of getting up, Jensen's softening cock still inside him even though some mixed-up lube and come is already building up between their bodies from his hole the more space Jensen's fading erection allows for them. And Jensen tries to kiss him, but he turns his head so that Jensen's lips land on the corner of his mouth instead - his breathing is still tense and his hands rest between them, the cloth of his shirt wet with come over his cock.

"Jay."

No answer.

"Did you like that? At all?"

Slowly, Jared turns his gaze back to Jensen and he looks tired and blank for some moments before his lips twitch in an attempt of some expression or another.

"My fucking back hurts," he says, but Jensen keeps watching him with an expecting look until he squirms, sending a flash of irritation through Jensen's cock still on its way out of him.

The discomfort on Jensen's face seems to amuse him, anyway.

"You want a compliment or what?" Jared asks, his muscles tensing around Jensen until he lets out a grunt and tries to pull back to avoid more stimulation of his overloaded nerves.

"I just want to know you're alright. That I didn't hurt you."

"Fucking softie. Let me out."

Jensen watches him unlock the door and scamper off him; he knees him in the thigh painfully as he goes, but Jensen suffocates the grunt of pain. There's really no other way - they just don't fit in like this, and the one on the bottom pays the price. His eyes catch onto the wetness over the other man's ass, the trail of lube and come staining him up to his thigh where Jensen's cock finally slid out of him and spread it over his skin. Jared seems aware of it himself, and brings his fingers near casually through the mess as if to confirm its presence before he hops back to his clothes and starts pulling them on.

"I'm gonna move back to my apartment," he says while Jensen still sits idly inside the car, "We're not really supposed to stay here if we don't have a pressing reason for it."

"Isn't 'call at 7am' pressing enough?" Jensen asks him, absently pushing his cock inside his pants where the chilly night air can't cling to it anymore.

His nerves are still tingling from the orgasm. That, and the sheer weight that's pressing his body down - all he wants to do is just curl up and fall asleep right here. He moves his gaze around the backseat to make sure they didn't leave behind any incriminating evidence, but neither of them seems to have leaked or smeared anything on the leather. A soft sigh of relief escapes him.

"How's the hood looking?" he asks, eyes blindly staring into the seat still.

"A little filthy," Jared confirms, seemingly uncaring, "I think there's lube on it. I don't really give a fuck, though. Someone will clean it up tomorrow."

"No," Jensen growls and finally starts moving out of the car, "I'll clean it up right now so that your ass stays on the contract."

"With what?"

"I don't know. With my psychic powers. My shirt. Something else."

He moves around the car and takes a look at the mess; there are stains upon the previously flawlessly reflecting metal surface, and he can't remove them without water. A snarl leaves him: it's an animalistic, disappointed sound. Then he shrugs, suddenly void of all energy. He watches Jared for a moment as the man pulls back on his jacket, and then, without thinking, he grabs his sleeve to catch his attention.

"You did really good today," he says, "You tried. You fought back. It's good. And I'm - I'm proud of you."

Jared watches him for a moment before scoffing and shrugging.  
"I'm going to bed. Do whatever the fuck you want with the car, I'm not gonna bother." 

"Yeah."  
Jensen looks back down at the hood and sighs.  
"Me neither." 

"Good night, Jen."

"Night, Jared."

Jared's steps echo from the studio building's side and reflect back all over the parking lot. Once he's gone, Jensen picks up whatever was left behind - the lube, first and foremost - and takes one last look around the area before planting the car's key next to the door on the ground.

For all he knows, that's where it's been this whole time.


	3. A Conspiracy

* * *

 

  
Jensen wakes up slowly. There's a buzzing sound in his ear, and at first he thinks it's the alarm - that somehow, it's gone soundless - but it's a phone call, and when he realises that, he slams his hand over his phone and drags it over.

"Mhm?" he lets out, still checking the time; 6:42am, only a few minutes to his alarm.

"Some network reps want to talk," Clif's voice tells him without introduction, and in the background, Jensen can hear the early Vancouver traffic buzzing, "I promised to pick you two up and bring you over before the shooting starts today."

"Clif, it's - not even seven, why do they wanna -"

And then it hits Jensen like a bucketful of ice water leaking into his stomach. Last night. It can't be about anything else. He swallows painfully, suddenly aware that he's sprung up from the bed and he's covered in cold sweat, his chest aching.

"What do I wear?" he breathes out shakily through the silence on the line.

"I'd say look normal," Clif tells him, "but what do I know, I'm just a bodyguard. Good luck, anyway. I'll be there in ten."

The call ends. Jensen lowers the phone on his lap with a shaky hand, idles for a moment as if frozen on the spot, then lifts his legs out of the bed and slides on the trailer's floor. He parts the curtains over the small window and sees the lights on in Jared's trailer: it doesn't make him feel any better, so he slides them back soon enough and sits back on the bed. His heart's drumming like mad, and he doesn't know what to do about it. Four minutes later he finally stands up again and starts putting on his clothes.

_Look like Dean,_ he tells himself; _They like Dean. They might not like you, but they like Dean - Dean brings them money. Look like Dean, Jensen. You're an actor, you can pull this off._

He's still shaking and sweating when Clif knocks on the door. Jared sits in the car, and Jensen's glad to see he's taken the front seat as always: he picks the seat furthest away from him behind Clif's back, and off they go. It's a short ride, just around the studios, but Jensen finds himself wishing it was two hundred miles longer when they park in front of the offices.

"Good luck," Clif tells them both again.

"You're not coming?" Jensen asks him, trying to calm down the panic in his voice.

Clif glances at him through the rear-view mirror.  
"You anticipating they'll attack you? Because if you think your safety's threatened, sure, I'm coming. Otherwise... I'd rather not."

Jensen swallows, flashes a nervous grin as if amused by the thought, and nods. Jared's already stepping outside, and his body language is as tense as ever; he's clenching his jaw when Jensen stands outside with him, but when Jensen tries to meet his eyes, he simply turns away and heads for the door. When Jensen follows him, Jared's hand is suddenly on his shoulder. They look at each other and Jared's eyes are cold and distant.

"I'm going to kill you," he snarls, and Jensen can't tell if it's a metaphorical threat or a physical one.

The door opens, leaving them bathing in a golden light.

 

* * *

 

They sit in front of three men, all dressed in suits, and while Jensen has never been to a court, he now knows how it feels like to stand there, accused of a crime he knows he committed. The men all shake their hands and introduce themselves, but Jensen hasn't seen one of them before and his mind, preoccupied as it is, gladly ignores the introductions. He doesn't know who the man is who sits in the middle and looks at him like he's killed someone that man loved, like his wife or his first born child. The air feels tense when the man on the left taps his fingers on the table and lets out a forced laughter.

"Well, I think you both know why we're here," he says, sounding disingenuously awkward, like he's only putting on a show to appear human, "so we'll skip the part that we all want to avoid. You did what you did, and we all know about it. Now, we have to talk about the consequences. About, well, business, really; how we want to avoid the backlash from this... mistake."

Jared shifts. Jensen watches him, frozen, because for some reason, he's looking for reassurance: a familiar figure, someone who could _defend_ him. But Jared's not going to defend him. The hope still lives, flickering within Jensen like a candle in the wind, until Jared suddenly turns to look at him and the same killer stare from before strangles the heart of that candle and Jensen, shuddering, turns his gaze to his knees like a scolded child.

"We are all very fond of _Supernatural_. So trust us when we say that we only have your best in mind, and don't take this the wrong way. We have to adjust your contracts a little, to avoid - well, to avoid any embarrassing media, so to speak, but mostly, we have to protect the show's image. You are brothers, right? Your image should reflect that. Your, um, _relationship_ , above all, must reflect that. Are you catching my drift, Mr. Padalecki, Ackles...?"

Jensen nods. He can basically hear Jared's nod a few inches away from his - it's that stiff, that forced.

"Of course, what you privately decide to do is not our concern. But in your contract, you've agreed to certain terms. You're protecting this network's public image and PR is part of your agreement. You've signed this. Are we on the same page?"

A dead silence follows. Finally, Jensen nods again.

"Good, good."

The man in the middle clears his throat and speaks up next.

"Firstly, both of you: what happened last night will never happen again. This on threat of termination. We cannot and do not wish to control your lives, but what you do in private will, from hereon out, remain strictly in private. There can not be any risk to the network or your show's reputation _or_  to your public image. If you do not cooperate with us on this, I'm afraid we must enforce the matter. We don't want to lose you, but there will be consequences, I'm sure you both understand this."

He clears his throat again.

"Then, Mr. Padalecki. You have a wife and two children."

The man holds a pause, as if to let his words sink in: all Jensen can imagine them doing is incite Jared further, but the younger actor sits still and only his heavy, restricted breathing tells Jensen just how on edge he is.

"It is, in the network's opinion, best that you remind our audience about this. It seems there's been a steady decline in your public appearances together since you got married, and it would be for the best if these appearances would not only continue, but become much more frequent. Also, we would prefer that you kept mentioning both Mrs. Padalecki as well as your, I'm sure, beloved children, in future interviews as often as you see necessary to keep up your image as a family-oriented, hard-working husband. We would also suggest that you _pump up_ the audience's idea of you as a, hmm, a little brother in terms of your relationship with Mr. Ackles - they love that joking, compassionate side of yours. How about you bring that back into your public appearances as well? Maybe set up a prank or two to talk about. Just for the girls, Mr. Padalecki, they love that. It appeals to them, makes you _dreamy_ for them, to play up that funny next door boy role."

Jared nods stiffly. He's still quiet, and Jensen's not certain if he's even breathing anymore. The hawk's eye turns to him, and before he realises it, he's looking back. He doesn't know where his Dean went: all he feels now is that scolded little boy in the principal's office after somebody caught him touching another boy inappropriately.

"Mr. Ackles," the man says in a pretend-thoughtful voice, "We understand that you are not married, and have not been dating for a while."

Jensen swallows, and the man smiles at him, and his smile seems void and hollow like someone sucked his soul out a long time ago.

"It would be best if that came to a change. In fact, we think you will find a woman very soon, a woman who will become very important to you in the long-term. Do you understand what I mean, Mr. Ackles?"

Jensen can't bring himself to nod. His heart's racing so hard that he's almost certain he's having a heart attack - his entire body is aching and cold and pulsing. His vision seems blurry and he's swallowing sand. Finally, the nod comes; he feels his entire spine bend unnaturally, as if it's made of partially hardened clay.

"I - I understand," he barely more than whispers.

The representative nods in a satisfied manner.

"Soon, Mr. Ackles. It is crucial for your image. People are already talking, we know that you know that. Surely we should not give them _more_ to talk about."

The man on the left taps the table again.

"I think that's all, isn't it?" he asks from the man in the middle.

The man in the middle smiles pleasantly at the man on the left and nods. They both peer at the man on the right, who also nods, closes his notebook and stands up.

"You may go now," he tells them, "It was good that you could come this early. We apologize about the lack of prior notice, but it was deemed necessary that we have this talk before you continue working together. Thank you for agreeing with us. We truly do value your work."

He checks his watch and smiles even wider.

"It is almost time for you to start your day, isn't it? You can leave now to prepare."

Jared stands up so quickly that his chair nearly falls. He catches it mid-fall with a robotic movement, settles it back against the floor on all four legs and turns around. Jensen follows his lead and stands up, stopping before the door to let Jared pass him first: he's well out of the way, and still, Jared's shoulder bumps into his with painful force as the man heads for the door. Their gazes meet and Jared leans towards him, his mouth nearly brushing against Jensen's ear.

"This is your fault," he breathes into Jensen, and then, just like that, he's already in the corridor.

With water prickling in his eyes, Jensen turns to glance at the three men still sitting by the table, nods at them with the fakest smile he's ever smiled, and he leaves the room well behind Jared, hoping that Clif's car has stretched a mile or so since he last saw it just to protect him from the other's blazing aura.

 

* * *

 

He sits in the make-up trailer with tears burning in his ducts, always just a second away from spilling over. He works through the day with a lump in his throat, shoved to the side by Jared's now more metaphorical cold shoulder. He doesn't eat, as he can't get one bite down. Every smile he smiles is forced and empty.

Between the shooting, he goes back in his trailer. Heart beating loudly, he pulls up his laptop and starts typing a letter to no one: a letter of resignation, at first, which then turns into a letter of confession. He wants to paste it all onto his Facebook page but holds back from doing so, but the feeling of getting his thoughts out and on the screen relieves the pressure inside him somewhat. Through that relief and the clarity that sorting out his thoughts into proper words, a weak and flimsy plan forms inside him. It may not be a strong one, only offering him a single step forwards, but it feels necessary to follow it regardless, and as he returns back on the set and settles to wait for his cue, he finds himself rather relieved. Now a path stands before him and while it still seems rocky, it's no more like a mountain but more like a creaky old bridge over a cold stream, an obstacle that he's got the courage to cross.

Jared's leaning to the tall wall of the studio building, watching the sunny but crisp cold autumn day ahead of them when Jensen follows him outdoors like a hound set on a trail. He doesn't look at Jensen, as it seems to have become his main coping method or else a method of punishment towards Jensen to pretend as if he doesn't exist at all. Jensen takes a moment to dwell in it, in that uncomfortable invisibility that enfolds him when he stands there, noticed yet decisively, hard-headedly ignored, and he watches Jared and the way his nostrils flare on every breath. Then, he drags in a gulp of that cold autumn air, and he speaks.

"I'm sorry," he tells Jared, and his voice is steady but pleading, begging to be heard, "You're right. This is my fault."

No reaction. Jared blinks and turns his gaze towards the sky for a second, then returns to staring ahead. He breathes in for seven seconds, lets out a breath of four. Holds for three. Inhales again.

"I did this. It was my idea, and I made you come with me, and I made you go through with it. You didn't ask for this. You didn't ask for trouble and I got you into some serious shit today. That's on me, and I'm sorry, Jay, I truly, really am sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have risked your image and your career and your safety for my excitement. I wronged you, and I did it for nothing, and there's nothing I can or would say to my defense even if I could. It's my fault you got into this, and it should have never happened. I promise it won't happen again. Ever."

Jensen's inhale shakes a little, but not out of fear. It's out of relief - getting it out, being heard, helps him. It seems selfish and he battles with that for a moment, but in the end, it's just the same; it's true that he's apologizing for himself. All he does, in the end, like any human being, benefits him. But more than anything, he does it because it's right - for Jared's sake, as much as for his own.

Tensely, Jared lowers his gaze. He examines the tips of his shoes for a moment before finally turning a closed-off look towards Jensen, and Jensen returns his gaze, trying to remain open for him. He doesn't seem angry now, just anxious, scared, depressed, and it feels as if he's wrestling Jensen for some hope, perhaps for that same path that Jensen's lost and Jared now hopes he's found. Finally he sighs and looks away again, but the tension in his body relieves a little and he nods.

"Thanks," he says, "I didn't really think you'd have the balls to apologize."

It takes Jensen by surprise. Any acknowledgement in general would, but this almost feels like he's off the hook for real. A sigh later, the taller man looks at him again.

"So," he says in a bleak voice, "How are you gonna get yourself out of this one?"

"What do you mean?" Jensen asks him, taken aback.

Jared huffs.  
"Well," he grunts, "You've pretty much established that you're not interested in dating anyone female. And now it's basically in your contract to do it, to get married. So, how are you gonna deal with that?"

"I didn't -" Jensen starts, but after a halted breath decides against trying to defend his orientation.

The truth is, he doesn't know anymore. He's never been this unsure about it before, this... shaken. All this time, he's taken it for granted, that of course he's straight, but what he's had with Jared - the truth is, what he's felt for other men before - is simply different. And what that makes him, he doesn't know; somehow, it just doesn't seem a priority anymore. The truth is, the subject tires him, makes him want to lie down and never get back up again. Like it's too big and he's much too weary to battle with it.

So, he replaces the rest of the sentence with a swallow and a shaky exhale, and he shrugs.

"How do you do it?" he asks instead, "How - does an open relationship work?"

Jared raises his brows.  
"Open? You think that's what me and Gen have, an open relationship?"

Jensen's brows lift at a much slower pace, almost comically so.  
  
"Uh... yeah? Isn't that what it is?"

"No," Jared scoffs and looks away, "We're married. We're not open. This is not being open. I don't know how that'd work, and I'm not interested in trying."

"But you're sleeping with me, and you're still married to -"

"Well, obviously? But it's not like that. It's not that we both can date whomever we want on the side. We're exclusive, with an exception."

"How does that _work_?" Jensen demands, frustration rising alongside with something like panic in his chest, "How the fuck do you date one person but love another at the same time? How do you get married to someone, have children with them, and still sleep with another and share your fucking life with them? Are you two people at once, how the fuck do you deal with that? How the fuck can I deal with that? What the fuck am I going to do, Jared?"

They watch each other for a long, quiet while. A breeze carries some yellowed leaves on the ground around them, whirlpools, and disperses again, leaving the leaves vibrating against the cold concrete below their feet. Jared clears his throat and shifts his feet, looks down and then back at Jensen, and he's frowning a little as he examines the pain on Jensen's face, as if he's trying to understand it. Then, finally, he shrugs.

"It just happened that way," he says then, "It just - came to be."

"But _how_ , Jared? Why did you marry her? Why are you sleeping with me? Answer me. Give me some fucking answers! All this time, I've lived - just pretending the other side of you doesn't exist. But it exists and somehow I'm a part of it in a way I don't understand, and I don't - now I need to live that life, too. To find someone else, even though the only person I want to be with is you."

"Doesn't that make it easier for you?" Jared asks him, still frowning, "To be told to find a partner. To be contractually bound to have someone else in your life, someone who can help you keep up your image, someone who'll stand there with you without complications. Someone you don't have to _love_ , but you have to _have_? Doesn't that make it so much fucking easier, Jensen, to not have to deal with the part of finding a person who matches with you, and instead just having to find someone who's willing to make this deal with you for mutual benefit?"

Stunned, Jensen stands there for a while without being able to so much as utter a word. His brain's pounding, and his heart's drumming, and there are sparkles flying around in his vision, dancing like noise on a film.

"Is - is that what you and Gen have? A deal of mutual benefit?" he asks then, stuttering.

Jared shrugs.  
  
"I didn't marry her for that. I never felt like I had to. I wanted to marry her. I had my reasons. But it helped, Jensen, it made my life easier. It gave me an anchoring point, somewhere I can return that's always reliably there. We have a system that benefits us because of the conditions we have to work with. She wanted a family, and I gave her one. I needed stability, and she gave me that in return. She's not my babysitter. She's - I guess I'd call her the only real friend I have. She gets me. She knows how to work with me. It's easy, Jensen. She just gets me, and she doesn't demand or expect things from me that I can't give her. She enjoys the things that I do give her. She's not like everybody else who all have these - these roles for me, these - things they expect from me, like a working empathy, or the capacity for caring about their mundane bullshit that has nothing to do with me and couldn't interest me any less even if I actively tried to not give a shit about it. She knows I don't care and she's fine with that. Meanwhile, she's interested in me, and I don't mind it. It just works, Jensen. The way it is. The things that come with it, we haven't made agreements, we haven't talked about them, but when they happen, we clear them out and make our plans work around them or with them. Whatever it takes."

"But she does have a role for you," Jensen argues blankly, "You said that yourself. She does expect things from you."

"Of course she has a role for me. But it's not the same kind of a role that someone else would have. She expects me to _perform_ , and I'm an actor, I know how to play a role. I play husband and I play father and I play whatever else I need to and she knows that it's only that, a role, and she's satisfied with it."  
Jared eyes Jensen again and chuckles dryly.  
"But that doesn't really help you, does it."

Jensen thinks about it. Then, slowly, he shakes his head.  
"I think it does," he says, and his whole body feels hollow where his mind just feels defeated and submissive, "I think - that helps me a lot, actually."

"Really."

"Really," Jensen repeats, "You've told me what I need to find: I need to find someone who needs something from me, so that I can give her that in return for what I need for myself."

"Which is?"

"A cover."

"I guess that's a start," Jared huffs.  
He blows out a cloud of mist like cigarette smoke and pushes himself off the wall.  
"Good talk."

And with that, he returns inside the studio, leaving Jensen standing there, shaking, and with the leftover throbbing inside his skull. In the end, he follows the man's steps indoors.

Dean comes easy to him, as if filling a vessel that has already been drained to the last drop.

 

* * *

 

A burn settles inside Jensen's chest when he sits in the car on the way to his apartment. Around him, Vancouver is buzzling. Its lights and sounds surround him, but he feels disconnected from it, as if he's in his own bubble in the midst of thousands of people, and as if even the car around him is separate from him. He tries to settle deeper in his seat, to really feel it underneath him, until he finally clears his throat to get rid of the discomfort and leans forwards instead.

"Hey, um," he says in a hesitating voice, "Could you - drive me to Jared's instead?"

The driver turns around and looks at him; the lights ahead show red, and Jensen knows this'll be a long look. He bears it, trying to reassure himself as much as the man that he really knows what he's doing, and he smiles apologetically.

"I know it's around here in the same direction. I hope that's - not an issue? I just, I just thought we should go over tomorrow's scene again, I wanna make sure I get it just right."

"No offense," the man says to him with a short laugh, "Are you really sure you want to hang out with that guy _outside_ work? I mean, it's none of my business, but I've been here for years driving you back and forth and you've never seemed too keen of him."

Jensen chuckles wearily. He leans back into the seat and sighs, watching the street move beside them as the car finally budges onwards and the drive continues.  
"Yeah, well," he says, and his voice sounds a little more fond than he intended it - he's not sure why, exactly. "I guess work trumps whatever I feel about him."

"I'll drive you there, it's not an issue."

What is, however, is the door standing between Jensen and the stairway up to Jared's apartment. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, nervous even as eagerly chatting people walk past him; he's not sure which number to push, and he's even more uncertain whether the right one would so much as let him in. For a while, he even considers turning away and getting a cab home, but it seems like the coward's way out. He's already there - he's got to do it now. Isn't that true? How can he reason coming this far just to run away with his tail tucked between his legs now that he's right here, just an inch away from doing it?

Doing what, he's not entirely certain. He just - just needs this. Needs Jared's company, as unpredictable as it is. God, this man's driving him insane: he wants in, he wants out, he wants in again, he wants out. Nothing's good for Jensen anymore. The further he gets from Jared, the less he can bear the distance, but being close is like choosing to lie down on hot coals. He can feel his skin blistering already when he picks up his phone and makes the call.

It takes forever for Jared to pick up.

"Huh?" he greets Jensen in a rather distracted manner.

"Let me in, I'm standing outside."

A brief pause.  
"You're what, now?" Jared asks, laughing disbelievingly.

"I'm standing outside your door and I don't know which apartment you're in, and I need you to let me through or I'll stand here the whole night and freeze to death."

Jensen looks up, watches the windows above. Most of them are lit, some are black and reflect the lights of Vancouver around them. It's such a normal scenery: seems like Jared still doesn't live in a black castle surrounded by skeletal guards and dark magic, after all. In one window, a woman stands gazing into the distance: she's holding the curtain in her hand, and seems lost in thought, unaware that a man down on street level is watching her in return.

The door buzzes.

"I'll leave the door open," Jared tells him and ends the call.

As Jensen tucks his phone back in his pocket, the woman upstairs finally seems to wake up again. She closes the curtain and walks away, and Jensen feels like he's walking with her when he steps across the doorway and into the corridor. It smells like any apartment complex stairway would - dusty, but somehow homely. He draws in a breath for courage before heading up the stairs, and he loses count of them before he finally finds a door ajar on one level, shedding light through its gap onto the clean floor outside. Jensen pushes his fingers between the gap and opens the door: behind it is a well-lit corridor with wooden floors and a white carpet covering a good portion of it. A table stands in the midst of the corridor, set against a wall with a tall mirror on it. The apartment smells warm and comforting, but Jared's not there to greet Jensen. Instead, his dogs are: one of them lets out a bark that sounds like a low, growly _boof_ , while the other wags carefully as it approaches Jensen to sniff at his legs.

Jensen closes the door behind him and plants his shoes beside Jared's, then walks in past the dogs at a slow pace, even more careful than they are as they sniff at him trying to make out if he's an intruder or a guest. At the doorway to the living room, he spots Jared, who's seated on a couch with a glass of rosé wine in his hand, eyes glued to the TV. He doesn't look at Jensen, but at least he acknowledges him with words.

"You really can't get enough of me, can you, Jensen," he speaks, and Jensen can't make out the tone of his voice.

It doesn't sound indifferent, but whether it's curious or something else, Jensen simply can't tell. He disregards it and steps inside the bright living room: the couch is white, the carpet is white, the table is white, but the large TV is dark silver and the pictures on the walls are all darker in colour. A picture of Genevieve holding the boys sits next to Jared's work phone on a drawer, and the latter is hooked to its charger. Beside that, two remotes sit still, both of them set straight but not quite touching each other.

Jensen doesn't know if he's been invited on the couch, so he hangs close to the doorway taking in the room as if planning to paint it once he's left. It's so strange to see the places Jared lives in - they all seem so... ordinary, so unlike him, even if the sense of higher class lingers inside them as a defining feature. He's got his awards on show, too; they're beside a collection of the movies and shows he's acted in, alongside every season of Supernatural produced so far. Jensen finds himself smiling at them: it's far more subdued than the room full of pictures and posters of Jared that he expected, although as if to make up for that, he does have a painting of himself beside another mirror.

"Fan made," Jared tells him as if reading his mind, "It's pretty good, though, isn't it?"

Jensen nods stiffly.

"What do you want," the younger asks him next, finally granting him a look.  
He lowers his glass and raises his brows, but his expression, much like his voice, seems indifferent.

For a long time, Jensen considers it, but even now, he simply doesn't know what he really came here for.  
"I just..." he starts, but saying it as it is seems pathetic. Pitiful.  
Why would he ever come here without a reason?

His eyes stop by Jared's camera on the table, and he idles there until Jared, too, looks at it. Realising the context they both have for cameras, Jensen's eyes dart back to Jared, but it seems too late - Jared looks back at him, brows raised.

"Did you really come here for a movie?" he asks, sounding vaguely surprised in a very bored manner, as if none of this really touches him at all, "After the shitfest you landed us in with the previous one?"

Jensen shakes his head.  
"I just wanted to see you," he finally blurts, realising that any excuse he's making up is going to be worse than the real reason, "I feel like shit for what happened, and I guess I just - I wanna make up for it. I need to make up for it. And we need to talk, Jared, we -"

"No," Jared cuts him off, "We don't need to talk, Jensen. At all. There's nothing to say."

"I'm sorry," Jensen repeats dully.

"I already heard that, and I already told you I'm glad you chose to apologize. That doesn't make it alright. That doesn't undo anything. No matter how many times you tell me you're sorry, I'm still fucked, and -"  
He laughs, and it sounds menacing and mean-spirited.  
"- and you're fucked even worse than I am. You know why I'm not angry with you, Jensen? More than this, I mean."

Jensen shrugs.

"Because," Jared continues, and he sounds almost cheerful now, "you got the absolute worst of it. They really went for you this time. I don't have to do anything. I have to attend a few charity events, brag about my wife. Maybe make another baby. Big fucking deal. You, on the other hand? You're in some deep shit. You've got nothing to defend yourself with. You have no fall-back. You've got _nothing_. And it makes me feel a lot better about it. I got off easy, and you got _fucked._ "

A crooked grimace flashes over Jensen's lips. He nods: there's really no argument here. Jared examines his reaction and seems to nod in approval, and he moves his glass to his other hand to pat the spot next to him on the couch.

"Come sit," he offers, and Jensen pushes himself to move.

He leaves a safety gap between them and pulls one foot on the couch for protection, but other than that, he feels rather comfortable there.

"I thought you'd be livid," he finally says.

"I was," Jared admits, "For a minute, I really thought I could kill you. I wanted to make it really fucking slow, too. I thought you'd ruined everything. But I thought about it and it really wasn't that bad, I feel like you got what you had coming for you, so I don't know, I guess I'm over it."

"Jared."

"Yeah?"

"What about - what happened."

Jared looks at him for a long while before sipping his wine and raising his brows.  
"What?"

"The... sex itself. I don't know, I thought - I really thought you'd like it, but I just - I guess I fucked up there, too."

For a minute, there's silence full of the TV's sounds and the muffled murmur of traffic outside. An ambulance passes, and it isn't until that sound is completely gone that Jared finally answers. He isn't looking at Jensen: instead, he's watching the TV, but he doesn't seem to be really seeing it.

"I wasn't lying," he says to it, "He really did take me for car rides. That was when he couldn't find any other excuse to be alone with me. He wanted to take me for ice creams or whatever, sometimes - sometimes he'd take me to the toy store. He really did prefer me to my sister and brother, you know? Sometimes they'd argue with me about it, they were jealous about it, why did I get to go on car trips and get new toys and gifts even though I wasn't anything special, and it wasn't my birthday or anything."

Jensen swallows, but he doesn't say anything. As much as he hates talking about this subject, after bringing back the memories... he almost deserves it, to sit here and bear the weight of them.

"If they would have fucking known the price I paid for that shit."  
Jared chuckles and drinks a large gulp of his wine, the only sign of distress he shows at talking about it. It seems to Jensen that the more he does, the easier it comes to him; there's no shaking breaths this time, no visual cue to the fear and anger he carries with him at all times. He's so indifferent today, as if he's past his capacity for all that negativity he usually gets through life with - in a way, he's much easier today than Jensen has ever seen him. Forgiving, almost.

"You said you've never told anyone," Jensen starts, then abruptly adds, "else. About what happened to you, what that - what he did to you."

Jared shakes his head.  
"I haven't."

"Who was he?"

"Dad's friend. They did everything together back in the day. If I'd told someone, they would have thought I made it up or something. Nobody would have believed me. Nobody did."

"So - you tried telling?"

Slowly, Jared nods.  
"In a way," he says then, "I guess - all the way back when it started. They told me never to talk about something like that again, to stop telling lies. Because I lied a lot. I was difficult. I made shit up to get things to go my way. So I didn't want to spend time with him anymore, they figured, and I made up this horrible story so that he'd stop showing up. I never brought it up again. Really learned my lesson there."

This time, Jensen doesn't know what to say anymore. It's the worst part, the reason why he really fears these conversations; there's nothing he can say or do that can make it go away. Nothing will fix it, but anything and everything can make it worse - he can prod at something that shouldn't be touched, make it all explode, leave another bleeding wound where the previous ones haven't so much as closed up yet. It's all too scary and he has no idea how to handle it: the only thing, really, that he knows how to do is how to make it worse.

That, he figures, he knows all too well.

"People don't really care," Jared continues after a moment, "They don't want to care. They only see what they want to see, you know? And it's so easy to manipulate that. To show them what they want to see and reap the benefits. I learned the game that way. Once I figured out how to do it, it was really easy to get exactly what I wanted. It took a while to get really good at it, but wouldn't you say, Jensen, that I'm pretty good at it today? After all, you're here."

Their gazes meet.

"I wanted you," he says, this time quietly, "I wanted you because you had something that I needed. And I got you. The fact that you didn't want any of that ultimately didn't matter. Doesn't that feel like shit, Jensen? To know that what you want doesn't matter? That just like that, someone can get inside your head and make you his whore even if you don't want to touch them, fuck, even if you don't want to so much as talk to them, look at them?"

Jensen ignores him, ignores the growing burn in his stomach and chest.  
"Was I the first?" he asks a little breathlessly.

"The first what? Who I did this to? Because I've done this my whole life."

"The first you raped."

Jared shrugs.  
"I guess."

"You guess?"

"Yeah. I mean, I don't really - I don't do the whole consent thing. I don't get it. We've talked about this. If you spread your legs for me, aren't you consenting? So I don't fucking know. Maybe someone along the way didn't really want it but didn't tell me the way I'd fucking understand it, and maybe that someone now goes around talking shit about being raped. I know I did things to people who didn't want it, though. It just wasn't rape. It wasn't sex. When I was a teen, I didn't really... the whole sexuality thing, fuck. I guess I upset some people, because I didn't know I had to wait for some fucking signal from them to kiss them or whatever. I never had that fucking luxury granted to me and I thought that was how it went. I learned, though. And if someone tells me to stop, I stop. I'm not a monster, Jensen. I don't get off on hurting people. I don't really - I mean, I don't _care_ if I hurt somebody. It's not my problem they got hurt. But that's not my idea of fun, either. I've known people who get off on it and I'm not like that. I'm not."

He looks at Jensen again, and after a couple seconds, much before Jensen's managed to form a proper response to it, he stands up.

"Do you want some wine?" he asks, nodding towards the bottle on the table.

Slowly, Jensen nods, and Jared leaves him sitting there. He walks over to his cupboards and pulls out another wine glass, and he fills them both: Jensen accepts the glass without hesitation.

They drink, and the clock on the wall settles over 7:01pm.

"How does it make you feel when someone tells you you raped them or did something else against their will?" Jensen finally asks.  
It seems so foreign to him that Jared really doesn't _care_ \- even knowing that he doesn't really feel things the way someone else would, imagining that he doesn't feel anything at all just doesn't seem realistic.

Jared chuckles.  
"It makes me angry," he says, "Like, I didn't? Fuck you. I hate it when people accuse me of shit that I either didn't do or they did to themselves."

"So, according to you, I raped myself."

"Pretty much."

"Alright."

Jensen sips his wine and finds himself wondering how much rosé he should drink to die from it.

"It's funny that by now I can really understand the fucked up logic you're working on," he says then, "Anyone who isn't completely fucked in the head realises that if I don't want it and you force me to do it anyway, you're the one in the wrong. But you're right, I never told you no. I just did my everything to get out of the situation, and you had to manipulate and threaten and push me into it, quite literally. But I didn't explicitly, verbally tell you no, so none of that matters."

"It's fucked up that you expect me to read your mind, Jensen. You do realise that?"

Jensen laughs. It sounds like the _boof_ that Jared's dog let out earlier, as it's the same kind of a growling, hoarse sound that holds no amusement or warmth in it.

"Why am I here?" he asks exasperatedly from himself, and Jared shrugs in response.

"Now that's a really good fucking question," he chuckles, and they drink again without looking at each other.

"Hey, Jensen," Jared finally starts again, turning to look at him, "Why do you actually have sex with me? I mean, when you talk about me supposedly raping you, you're talking in past tense. So it's not something that I'm currently doing, but we're still having sex, and most of it, you fucking initiate on your own. So - what's up?"

The wine is good.

"I'll let you know when I've been through a decade of therapy and started to finally understand it myself," Jensen grunts.  
He lowers his glass on the table and turns towards Jared, crossing his leg underneath the one still reaching for the floor. Jared follows his example; he places his glass beside Jensen's and tilts his torso towards him, but with both his legs still on the floor.

"Do we end this?" Jensen asks him seriously.

"Why?" Jared asks - he sounds entirely indifferent, if a little baffled, as if the idea comes out of nowhere.

"Because of today? Because of the network, because of PR, because I'll be dating somebody else? Because this was a big fucking mistake and I'm only here because something in me is fundamentally fucking broken, and if you Google the keywords 'abusive relationship', our names pop up as the top matching result?"

Jared shrugs.  
"I think we've talked this before," he says calmly and picks up his wine again, "You know that I need you, and whatever the fuck you choose, that won't change."

"Should I translate that to mean that if I leave you, you'll just go back to the plan where you force me into it?"

"No," Jared snarls, "I just think I've made it pretty clear what I think about you leaving and how well I'm coping without you around. That's all. The network pushing you into dating other people doesn't concern me. I don't care. Fuck who you fuck as long as you're fucking me more often. Maybe having a couple babies would even help you man up."

A sense of claustrophobia settles in right beside that strange scorching feeling inside Jensen. He drags in air, but the feeling of being trapped doesn't lift. The strangest thing is that he's not about to leave - only being reminded that even if he chose to, that door wouldn't be open at all, is what gets to him. He swallows thickly and drinks a long gulp of wine, draining most of it at once. Then, breathing out a long exhale, he turns his gaze back to Jared and takes a moment to examine him, and the familiar tingling sensation ripples back into his body.

Fuck, he loves that wreck. Needs him. Wants him; his cock stirs hopefully inside his jeans, and he readjusts his leg instinctively to cover it up. It's the last thing he needs in this situation.

"Jared," he finally breathes out, "I need to know that if I want to leave, I can go."

"Do you?"

"That's not the point."

"For me, it is the point. You keep having your fucking foot between the door and I don't like that. You can't have your back against the exit if you're planning to stay. So do you want to go, or do you want to stay? You have to choose one day, Jensen, and I'm growing really fucking tired of waiting."

Jensen considers it. He relaxes into the couch and imagines himself ten years from now sitting in the same couch, dealing with this same mess, and a weight settles over him like he's never felt before, and it keeps crushing him until he's having difficulties breathing and his heart is racing hard inside him. He shudders, but drowns it into another gulp of wine that leaves his glass empty.

"It's not a choice you can push me to make, Jared. It's not something I can decide right here and now."

"Why not?"

"Because I have no idea where this road will take us. I have no idea if there's a future - a viable future - for us. If I can live with you, or if you can recover to a point where you won't hurt me anymore. I want that. I really, really want to stay, Jared. I still don't know why, but you're the one I chose, and I want to stay, I want to be with you - I just don't know if that's possible."

He drags another breath through the lump in his throat and clears his voice.

"I don't want to die," he says then, and his voice echoes the fear inside him, "and I'm so fucking tired of hurting, Jared, and sometimes I don't know how much of it I can take before it breaks me. But I don't want to go yet. I'm not ready to give up on this, on - you. Part of it is just, I believe you when you tell me that nobody else can do this, that it's on me to fix you. And I also know that I can't do that alone. But fuck me if I don't want to keep trying as long and as hard as I can. It just might kill me, and it scares me, which is why I need to know that if I need that door, it'll be there. That if I go, you - Jared, I need to, fuck, I need you to promise me that if I walk out one day, you don't kill either of us."

Jared looks at him, one brow slightly raised, and puts down his glass again.

"Think of your fucking family," Jensen gasps before he gets too scared to push the subject, "Think of your kids. They need you. They need you around, because from all that I know, you're a good dad. It's a fucking miracle, but you've done good with them, and they love you, and they need you. So you can't just opt out and fucking die on them, I know you don't care but have you ever thought what that would do to them? How bad that would fuck them up?"

The younger man shrugs, but he's looking away, and to Jensen, that's enough of a sign that he's made an impact.

"I don't have much of an argument for myself," he carries on with a weary chuckle, "because while I don't think you would, if you _do_  snap and stab me in the throat when I tell you I'm leaving, really, there's nothing there to stop you. I know prisons are full of people like you. I know _Hannibal_ exists for a reason. But I just -"

"Jensen," Jared says in an exasperated voice, as if he's had to make this argument five hundred times or more, "We've been through this before - I'm not going to kill you. I've never killed anyone and I don't see a fucking reason to start now."

"You sounded pretty fucking convincing this morning when you said you'd kill me for getting you into trouble," Jensen snarls back at him, and to his surprise, Jared chuckles.

"Man, I wanted to. Is it really that rare? To want to bang someone's head into a fucking wall until their brains come out?"

"Uh... yeah, Jared, that's -"

"Right. But people say it all the time. It's a fucking joke."

"You really, really weren't joking this morning."

Again, Jared shrugs. He thinks for a moment before dragging his palm over his mouth and sighing.  
"I don't know what to tell you," he finally says, looking at Jensen, "I really don't want to go to prison. I have a career to think of. Sure, killing my coworker would make me famous as fuck, but it's not the kind of fame I'm really after. Besides, I'm..."

There's a slight pause, after which Jared lets out a deep sigh and rubs at his neck in discomfort.

"I'm fond of you. There's this - I don't - it's hard to articulate. I just don't want to see you hurt. I want to protect you. That's the opposite of wanting to kill you, Jensen. It sounds fucking stupid laid out in words but you're... special, I've already told you that. It's like, it's like finding a gem when you've been digging through hell your entire life, like finding, like finding something that really - makes a difference."

He swallows and grunts, grimacing.

"In the end, though," he finally says, "I'm just not a violent person. I've never been. I get into fights, but I don't beat up people, I - can defend myself, and I've broken bones before, but it's not against someone who isn't fighting back. I won't just fucking flip one day and go on a killing spree because my head doesn't know how to deal with emotions, Jensen. Being like me and being a raging fucking psychopath aren't the same thing. If I really wanted to kill someone, Jensen, I would have done it by now. And I haven't. The kinds of people who like to cause pain don't wait around four fucking decades to start doing it."

A small sigh leaves Jensen, and he realises it does make sense. He's seen Jared break things before, and he's seen him get in fights, but he's never seen him hurt someone who didn't hurt him first. Push them, maybe. Hold them against a wall, sure. But really hurt someone? The worst bruises Jensen ever got from Jared were all given in return for the bruises he left on him.

"So..."

"So I'm not a stalker, and I'm not a psychopath, and I'm not a killer. Does that work out for you, Jensen?"

Slowly, Jensen nods.  
"Yeah," he says, sounding relieved even in his own ears, "Yeah, that's - you're right."

"I told you so."

There's a brief pause before Jared readjusts and looks Jensen in the eye.

"So," he says, "Are you leaving, or are you staying?"

A defeated smile spreads over Jensen's lips.  
"I haven't made up my mind yet," he says.

The next thing he knows, he's closed in the gap between them with a kiss. It's desperate: he's got his hand tangled in Jared's hair, and Jared's eating him like he's starved for it, his body pressing into Jensen's and Jensen's giving way until Jared's all the way on top of him.

"Don't you fucking leave," Jared mumbles against his lips, each word a breath of air into Jensen's lungs and a brush of skin against his own, "Don't leave me alone with this mess. You _promised_."

"Jay -"

Jared's palm lands on his shoulder and presses him into the couch, but it doesn't feel bad to Jensen, it doesn't feel threatening - a little possessive, yes, but somehow it feels as if he needs that kind of reassurance now. He lifts his knee against Jared's waist and brings his free hand over his back, and Jared leans into him, his hips brushing against Jensen's. The sound of a car's horn down on the street level echoes inside Jensen's brain when he kisses the corner of Jared's mouth, just about ready to drown in him and forget everything about today, about the conversation they had, about everything; he lifts his hips, presses them into Jared's, and eats up the grunt that escapes the man on top of him. Then he pulls back and grabs Jared's head with his hands, stopping him from moving after him.

"You've gotta work for it," he breathes out, looking him in the eye, "You've gotta work for it _hard_ , Jay, to keep me."

"I'm trying, alright?" Jared tells him, his palm shifting over Jensen's chest and his fingertips digging into his pec, "Don't you fucking see it? I hold back all the time for you, I try to be good, I try to do things right, I try so fucking hard -"

"I know. I know. You've been good today, Jay, I really - I thought this'd be worse. I thought - since I deserved worse, you'd - but you've held back and it's really... I really - I'm happy, it makes a big difference."

"So I've earned this?"

Jensen nods.  
"Yeah," he chuckles, brushing back Jared's hair, "It's not a straight A, but it's somewhere up there, Jared. You're still a piece of shit but today, you're - a piece of shit I want to fuck."

"Sounds kinky."

"Shut up."

 

* * *

 

Jared's bedroom bathes in a blue-tinted light radiating through the window. It opens up to a great view of the city, and Jensen doesn't wonder why the woman he watched from down there was staring at it for such a long time. As Jensen sits down on the edge of the wide bed, Jared flicks on the reading lights and sets the camera on the bedside table; he gives Jensen a look and a subdued grin before turning it on. Jensen swallows as he looks into the black void inside the objective, and something twists inside his chest like nervous excitement, even though he's not entirely sure what he would be excited about. They've done this before and he doesn't care much for it, but in this new environment, surrounded by Jared's own territory, it just feels different somehow. He recalls the first time a camera stared at him, unblinking, from a bedside table as Jared moves in front of him and places his hand on Jensen's shoulders and his fingertips under Jensen's chin to tilt his head up. He remembers how he was counting on it to record evidence: this time, it's recording something else altogether, and his cock stiffens to the thought of it regardless as he kisses Jared back.

"Want your tongue," he manages to mutter against the man's mouth, quietly enough that the camera won't pick it up.  
He feels self-conscious about being recorded - about having his words, or this plea in particular, stay on film forever, or at least until Jared decides it's time to cull his collection.

"You do like that, don't you," Jared huffs back, and Jensen can feel the satisfied grin on him as he pushes him down on his back on the bed.

Jared's hand travels down to the hem of Jensen's shirt, flips off the flannel from over it, and reveals his stomach from underneath. He crawls down the man's body until he's kissing Jensen's navel and the soft curve of his abdomen, lips trailing the fine hair there and making Jensen shiver and gasp to the touch. It's a little cold in the room, and as Jensen tilts his head back to watch the lights shining through the window from the buildings opposite this one, he notices that the window's open, leaking in fresh air and letting out all the sounds that they're making. He hopes the traffic's noise drowns them out as Jared opens up his belt and cups his cock through his jeans with his warm, large hand, because the whimper he lets out shouldn't reach the ears of anyone outside this room.

"Can we - close the window?" he pants, legs spreading and one climbing over Jared's back as if he's got no intention whatsoever to let him go anywhere.

"Why?" Jared asks him, knees poking against Jensen's ass as he settles on the bed with him, "I thought it was you who liked the thrill of putting up a little show for others."

Jensen blushes.  
"I don't know what I was thinking," he admits.

Jared pulls open the fly of his pants and he finds himself rising up to the touch, damn near rubbing himself against the warmth of the man's hand. With an amused huff, Jared gives in to him: he presses his palm back over Jensen's cock and Jensen rocks against it, eyes closing and mouth tightly shut to keep the noises down his throat.

"'t wasn't all bad," Jared tells him as his palm rocks back against Jensen's front like he's toying with him, "Other than the shit that we got for it, I don't know, I didn't mind defiling the car."

The blush on Jensen's face grows, but he's also relieved: he's never felt that much regret over anything he's done before, and to hear that it may have not been as big a catastrophe as he originally thought comes as a huge relief.

"Was fucking uncomfortable, though. The cold and all. There wasn't any space to fuck inside it, either. My fucking head was knocking into the roof every time I moved and the front seat kept digging into my back."

Now, a muffled laughter escapes Jensen in spite of how hard he's trying to hold it back. He reaches his hand in and brushes through Jared's hair, looking at him.

"I'm sorry," he breathes out for the third time that day, "I didn't think it through at all."

Jared shrugs.  
"It's a nice picture, though," he says then, settling back on his knees on the edge of the bed.  
He digs out his phone and the screen lights up, and for a moment, he makes Jensen wait. Then he hands the phone to him with the photo of him spread over the hood of the Impala on the screen, and Jensen takes the first proper look at it, realising he barely had the attention span for it the night before.

And Jared's not wrong, he thinks as he hands the phone back and Jared slips it back in his pocket.

"Make it your new profile picture on Facebook," Jensen tells him, prodding him in the side with his knee.

"I should, shouldn't I."

"Mm."

The other man bends over him again, and his tongue licks a trail down from Jensen's navel to the waistband of his boxer-briefs hanging low over his hips.

"How fast do you think they'd fire me if I did that?" he asks as his fingers dig underneath Jensen's clothes and start dragging them off.

"Maybe minutes," Jensen replies, pulling his hips up on the bed, "But it'd be on the Internet forever even if Facebook ate your entire profile in seconds after you uploaded it."

Jared chuckles.  
"You know there's already a clip of 'me' circulating the web, right?"

"No? Did you -"

"No," Jared cuts him off; he's pulling down Jensen's jeans and his briefs both at once, and they fall on the floor with a small thud before he continues, suddenly back over Jensen and looking him in the eye, "But the fans sure like to think so."

A crooked grin flashes over Jensen's lips. Really, even if Jared was lying, he wouldn't be surprised.

"Eat me out," he breathes, pulling up just to kiss Jared on the mouth before he can respond.

He feels the other's grip over his shoulder, pushing back on the bed.  
"Strip off your tee," Jared tells him, "but leave the flannel on. I kinda like it."

"Really?"

Jared nods.  
"Roll up the sleeves, too."

"Is that like a kink of yours or something?" Jensen asks him as he starts wriggling out of his remaining clothes.

"Is it?"

"I don't know, it's just oddly specific. Take off your tee and leave the flannel on. Why?"

Jared shrugs.  
"I like the way it looks on you."

Soon enough, Jensen's t-shirt joins the pile of clothes forming beside the bed, but just as Jared asked him to, he pulls the flannel back on and rolls up the sleeves.

"Sit," Jared tells him, stepping off the bed.  
He grabs the camera off the table and aims the screen towards himself to see what he's filming, and Jensen climbs up into a sitting position, eyeing him curiously.

Jared pushes the hem of the shirt off his lap to leave his cock visible, but the rest of the shirt still covers Jensen's chest as he runs the camera over the view. As he's still filming, he reaches his hand to wrap around Jensen's cock, and he keeps the camera there through the first few strokes, making Jensen very self-conscious of the faces he's making in response to the pleasure rushing through him. His eyes fall half-lidded and his lips part, and he turns his face away in shame, unable to stop the small shaky breath escaping him regardless.

"You look good," Jared tells him in a voice that one would use to compliment a piece of modern art on display, the same, Jensen's sure, he's used before for the purpose.

Jensen takes it, anyway. He's breathing heavy when Jared returns the camera on the table and leans back over him: he plays around with the flannel for a bit, leaving warm kisses over Jensen's neck and shoulders and chest throughout, but then, finally, he guides Jensen back on the bed and spreads his legs apart.

Their eyes meet when Jared takes a firm hold of Jensen's thigh and pulls it up over his stomach, and Jensen knows exactly how hot and red his cheeks are, and how his chest is rising and how loudly his heart is beating. Then, appearing satisfied and still with all his clothes on like he's in no hurry whatsoever to join Jensen on the bed, Jared dives down and presses his tongue against Jensen's hole.

A deep, long moan escapes Jensen and he throws his head back, his spine curving up as Jared's tongue runs a circle around the twitching, throbbing ring of muscle. The touch alone makes him shake with arousal and blinding pleasure - God, he loves this - but when the movement continues, and when the tip of the man's tongue pushes through and just an inch or so inside his body, he feels like he might just lose it and come untouched. As if to confirm it, his cock leaks a drop or two of precome over the side of his thigh where it's leaning, and Jared lets out a soft sound against his flesh, pressing his face closer until his lips are all over Jensen's body, eating him out just as he begged him to, and the friction and the prodding of his tongue all but make Jensen cry. He's letting out whines and moans and this pained, continuous sound that seems to amuse Jared; the man sometimes chuckles against him after the loudest of the whines. It continues for a while like that until Jensen feels a fingertip press into him instead, and he freezes, rising his hips off the bed and thrusting them towards that pressure. He dares to open his eyes again just in time to see Jared wipe his mouth to the sleeve of his shirt, watching him with a calculating expression. Then, the man's eyes drop towards his cock, and Jensen's follow his lead; he's leaving a good damn trail of come over his own thigh, one that's slowly dripping down towards his belly.

"You were worried about the neighbours hearing us?" Jared grunts in an amused voice, "Because, uh, they just did."

"How are you so fucking - ngh - good with your mouth, Jay?"

Jared hesitates. Then he laughs a little, pulls back and sits beside Jensen on the bed; he drags off his shirt and unceremoniously drops it on the floor. He turns towards Jensen and the smile on him is quite teasing.

"Why do _you_ like having a man's tongue up your asshole so much, Jensen?" he asks in return, and Jensen throws his arm over his eyes, feeling another rush of heat wash over his whole upper body instead of just his face this time.

"Hey. Hey, look," Jared chuckles, settling on the bed next to him and wrestling his arm down again, "It's not that bad. Just own it, alright?"

"Own it?"

"Yeah. You like men. It's okay."

"Jay -"

"Admit it, Jensen."

Jensen swallows thickly. He looks at the ceiling instead of Jared, and he thinks about it for a long while: he can feel the camera rolling beside them, and it makes it much harder for him to say anything at all. Finally, he turns towards Jared.

"Why do you care?" he asks, "Why are you so fucking set on changing how I identify?"

"Well, how do you identify, then?"

"I'm -"

Jensen swallows. Straight? Right. The silence feels loud in his ears all the way until Jared rolls his eyes and slips his hand between Jensen's legs again. His fist feels warm and firm around Jensen's cock, and he finds himself rocking right back into it again like his body just doesn't care about anything else.

"You're bisexual, right?" he finally asks Jared, his eyes lingering over the brilliant hazel of the other man's irises.

Jared nods.  
"Yeah."

"When did you - know?"

"I never didn't know," he says with a shrug, his fist gripping Jensen a little tighter, "I just grew up that way. I don't get what your issue is, Jensen. It doesn't matter and it's really simple, too. To the world, you're straight, because there's nothing else out there and that's what you need to do to get work and stay relevant. But privately, it doesn't fucking matter. So why are you holding onto it so tightly? You say you like women, but when have you last been with one, anyway?"

Jensen shudders. He brings his thigh up to cover his cock, but Jared doesn't let go of it. His hand gets squished between the warm soft of Jensen's legs, and it only seems to intensify the pleasure each movement grants Jensen in return.

"It's just - not a priority for me," he says, cheeks flaring, "I don't - I'm not a -"

Jared rolls his eyes.  
"You're not a what?"

Jensen swallows again.  
"I don't want to think about it," he finally says, "I don't - it shouldn't matter."

"So why do you let it matter so much?"

He's quiet now. There's no answer. Admitting to it - admitting to the crushes he's had, to the love he's felt, to the way he feels even now as Jared keeps touching him, it feels wrong and hard and painful to put into words. If he just lives it, it's different; it comes to him naturally, being there with someone whose body feels warm and whose scent lingers heavy in the air, whose hips are narrow and whose shoulders are wide, and he wants to kiss the bump of Jared's Adam's apple and feel the stubble over his jaw, but he doesn't want to say it. Saying it is wrong - living it? Nobody needs to know.

"Say it, Jensen."

"No."

Jared leans in and kisses his neck, and he tilts his head to give him way to do it; the man nips at his skin and then turns to suck at his ear instead, and he shivers and gasps and his hand charges to hold Jared's bare shoulder as if just to have something to grasp.

"Tell me," Jared breathes into his ear, "Tell me. You're thinking it."

"No," Jensen repeats and he feels like curling into himself to disappear.

"I'll give you what you need if you say it. Whisper it. As long as it comes the fuck out of your mouth, Jensen, I'm tired of you pretending you're something that you're not. You do it all the time. With that role you pull to convince people you're just as macho and manly as Dean? It's bullshit. Everybody knows it. Just tell me what you are. Be honest for fucking once, Jensen."

"I'm not anything," Jensen groans and tries to push Jared off himself, but he's not really pushing hard or even putting effort into it, "Can you get the fuck off me, Jay?"

Jared chuckles. He pulls away, wrestles his hand free from between Jensen's thighs, and as Jensen pants there on the bed like after a big fight of some kind, he seems perfectly content taking his time unbuckling his belt and opening his fly. Then he aims a look at Jensen and the smile on him seems pitying enough to make Jensen groan.

"Fine," Jensen spits at him, pulling up from the bed, "What the fuck do you want me to say? That I get off on this, as if you didn't know it? That I want to fuck you? I think I told you that already. So I'm not straight. Why the fuck does it matter?"

Jared raises his brows a little, leaving his fly hanging open and leaning onto his palm which sinks into the bed.  
"That's exactly what I'm trying to ask you," he huffs, "Why the fuck does it matter what you are, Jensen?"

"Why do you want me to say it?"

"Because you're afraid of it."

"And why do you care?"

A small chuckle escapes Jared again and he shrugs.  
"I hate pretenders," he says then, "I hate you, specifically, pulling a role and lying to yourself. You're going to start a relationship with someone. You said it yourself, it won't be a real relationship. It's just a cover. Cover for what, Jensen?"

"Us, idiot," Jensen groans.

"Really?" Jared asks him, "That's it?"

They stare at each other for a while. Then, finally, Jensen's had it enough. He grabs Jared and wrestles him on the bed, and they fight, the bed creaking underneath them as they try to come out on top. For Jared, it seems like play; he's not fighting back for real, but Jensen's trying hard to make sure he doesn't get back up for one second. It feels like his entire pride depends on keeping Jared down even if the man himself doesn't give a shit about who ends up winning. In the end, Jensen's sitting on top of him, naked as he is with the zipper of Jared's jeans digging into his bare skin, and he growls at the man, leans down over him, and stares him right in the eye.

"I've slept with women," he snarls, "and I'll sleep with women again. I like it. You can't tell me that I don't. You don't know it."

"But you don't love them. You don't want them like you want me. You never have," Jared tells him, his voice like he's speaking to a child.

In return, he gets a red mark over his neck: Jensen makes sure to twist his skin when he bites into it, but all he receives for his effort is a purring moan from Jared's mouth.

"Admit it," Jared laughs, brushing his fingers through Jensen's hair even as Jensen shakes his hand off angrily with a throw of his head.

"So what?" Jensen asks him.

"Yeah."

"So fucking _what?_ "

Jared shrugs, and Jensen pushes his shoulders into the bed to make sure he won't do it again.

"So fucking what if I'm gay? What does it matter? What fucking difference does it make? Does it make the way you treat me alright? Does it make the way anyone fucking treats me okay? Does it change anything? Does it change the fact that I have to find myself a wife and live my fucking life like that? Does it change the fact that I'm stuck in this fucking bullshit relationship with you instead of having someone who actually fucking cares about me, loves me, and respects me like they should? Does it change anything at all, Jared? No, it fucking doesn't."

Jensen drags in a heavy breath and feels like spitting it back on Jared's face.

"I'm gay," he repeats, "and it doesn't change a fucking thing."

The grin's gone from Jared's face now. He's watching Jensen with a curious, open expression, and Jensen's looking back at him hoping he'll die from the sheer burn of the anger inside Jensen, but he keeps breathing and he keeps looking back and his eyes are beautiful and his stupid nose is pink and his cheeks are pink and his lips are parted and Jensen wants to kiss him and never stop kissing him again.

"I respect you," Jared finally tells him, and his tongue darts over his lips as if just to tease Jensen more, "I respect you, Jensen. You're the strongest person I've ever met, and you don't take shit from people. Of course I respect that. Of course I respect you. Whoever doesn't is a fucking moron."

"Well, you've got a fucking funny way of showing it," Jensen growls.  
He pushes Jared deeper into the bed and bites his lips, makes sure to get that long whimper out of him before he turns that bite into kissing instead, feeling the raw throbbing of thin skin underneath his touches.

His heart still races like mad when Jared wraps his arms around him, and he moves his own hands to push the man's clothes off. They rock together, cocks sliding side by side trapped between their bodies, and the kiss keeps going on even though Jensen's mouth is numb and his body's screaming for more oxygen to deal with all the adrenaline still rushing inside him.

"Fuck me, Jared," he breathes against Jared's mouth, and Jared grabs him by the waist and throws him on the bed, returning on top of him again.

That achieved, Jared sits up and reaches under the bed, pulling a big bottle of lube out from there; with a teasing grin, he pumps some over his fingers before dropping the bottle on the bedside table, and then he leans over Jensen again, his slippery, cool fingers pressing over his sensitive hole. He runs a circle with them, spreading the lube all over the skin between Jensen's legs, and then finally pushes one finger inside him. Jensen closes his eyes and a small sound escapes him, and he spreads his legs more, trying to find a good spot for his heel on the right side as it keeps slipping down the bed everywhere he places it.

"You want it hard or slow, baby?" Jared asks him, his mouth suddenly very close to Jensen's ear.

His voice and the words send a rush of shivers down Jensen's spine, and he gasps for air before managing to get words through to respond.  
"Slow," he grunts, "I've had - enough - of hard for today. I just - just let me - Jared, just, just please fucking let me be, let me -"

"Alright. Alright, Jensen. It's alright."

Another finger slides inside him, stretching him out; it feels foreign for a while before Jensen's body accepts it and begins relaxing around it. He's so fucking tense tonight, all the stress from the day still lingering in his muscles, and all he wants to do is let go and forget it all, to just exist in this moment instead of worrying about everything else. And for once, Jared's listening to him. As much as Jensen wishes he'd do so outside of the bedroom, at least he's near reliably good at respecting his wishes here. Even now, he's fucking him gently with his fingers, giving him time to loosen up around them before adding in a third, and he's curving them just right to make jolts of electricity rush up inside Jensen's body; he's leaking again, if not quite as much as when he had Jared's mouth on him. A drop of transparent precome catches onto his fingers when he wraps his own hand around his cock and gives it a few strokes, opening his eyes to watch Jared above him.

"Why can't you be like this all the time?" he asks breathlessly, examining the look on Jared's face as he speaks.

Jared huffs.  
"Because existing isn't usually this rewarding," he replies simply with half a laughter, "It's as simple as that."

Jensen rolls his eyes before closing them again. His free hand reaches over the back of Jared's neck and he strokes it slowly in rhythm with the man's fingers inside him.  
"I'm ready," he mumbles in a moment, aching to get the other inside him, "Please."

"Mm."

Jared pulls out his fingers, and Jensen stays there on his back with his eyes closed until he crawls back over him. He feels the hot crown of Jared's cock brush between his cheeks, and he adjusts himself a little, bringing his leg up to present himself to the man. Jared leans into him, but he takes him slowly and carefully - they breath the same air together, and despite the cold flowing inside through the open window, Jensen's sweating as he feels himself melting together with the man above and over him. They kiss again, but this time, it's more half-hearted; it's more Jensen trying to stay in contact and Jared responding to him just because it's happening, and it makes Jensen smile a little for a reason he can't track down.

"I love you," he mutters against Jared's mouth, "Love the way you feel."

Jared growls back at him. He pushes his forehead against Jensen's like a cat as he rocks into him for the first time, and Jensen lets out a long, relieved sigh at the movement. He pushes his hips into Jared's and takes him deep inside, and for a while, Jared stays there, moving ever so slightly to keep the friction alive between them before he pulls away again only to sink right back inside. They don't speak after that, not for a very long while, and the only sounds remaining are their heavy breaths, the gasps and moans that they let out, and the world outside still going on its way as if the two of them didn't exist within it. Afterwards, they lie there together, panting and trying to collect themselves; Jensen watches the ceiling and a strange weight rests over his chest, like a longing of some kind, and he wishes that Jared would touch him or do something to make it easier to bear.

Instead, the man eventually stands up and walks to his drawer, pulls on a pair of sweatpants and throws another pair to Jensen.

"Want a snack before shower and bed?" he asks him, and a rare smile lingers over his lips; he looks damn near normal now, and Jensen enjoys the sight of him like that.

He nods.  
"I'm starving," he admits, sitting up despite his trembling, weak muscles.

Jared leaves the door open when he goes, and Jensen stares at the camera on the table still flashing with red light. He leans over to it and presses the record button again, and once he's made sure the movie's all there, he turns the thing off and returns it on the table. He's just about to follow Jared back into the kitchen when his phone starts buzzing idly on the floor inside his jeans. Curious, he kneels down and sits beside the bed, untangling the mess to find his pocket with shaky hands.

_Cortese, Genevieve_.

He should really have changed the name by now.

"Uh," he speaks into the phone as he brings it over his ear, "hey, it's - Jensen. Did you mean to call me?"

"Hey, Jensen," Gen's voice comes through the line, "Yeah, I did. Sorry, it's really late, isn't it. Are you with Jared?"

"Um," Jensen says again, "Yeah. I'm - at his apartment."  
He feels his ears burn red as he says it.

"Alright. Look, I don't want to bother you, but I've been thinking about this, and it doesn't feel right."

Jensen doesn't know what to say, so he lets her continue.

"I can't just - I really don't know how to say this. I don't feel like it's my place, I still don't, but it's been well over a year now and I honestly never thought Jared was so serious about you. I thought the novelty would wear off. And, Jensen, I'm so, I'm so sorry. I know - it hasn't been easy on you. I don't know how you feel about it, I've only ever gotten his word on it, but I know he's difficult. Are you - are you still there?"

Jensen nods, dumbly, as if Genevieve could somehow see him through the phone.  
"Yeah," he says finally when he realises she really can't, "I'm here."

"Alright. Well, I really called - he told me about the arrangement you have with him. The reward system."

Jensen closes his eyes and swallows.  
"Okay," he says, unable to think of anything else to comment on it.

"I think it's good. I really - over the past year, you've - you've changed him a lot. For the better, I mean. He's never that bad with me but he can be difficult, and it's changed so, so much ever since you two started being together. It feels like a huge weight off of me. You're really - you're doing so much for us both, and I don't think you even know it. And I realised, I started thinking lately, that I can't, that I shouldn't, really, leave it all on you. He's my husband. I have a responsibility for him, too. And I can't just let you shoulder the fallout from it, because, look, I know there is one. I know how badly he takes everything that he perceives as restricting him, or as a punishment. We've had to go through that to be together. So... I know you probably don't want me to interfere, and I'm alright with that if you want to keep this between you two, but if you need help - now or ever, Jensen - you know I've got your back with him."

Slowly, Jensen opens his eyes again. He glances at the doorway and watches Jared's shadow reflecting against the floor, and he's quiet for a long time, his head dizzy and his stomach suddenly feeling oddly weightless, like he's lost all his insides in a flash. He swallows thickly and clears his throat.

"You know," he says then, and his voice is trembling badly, "I - I could really - I really appreciate that. I... Genevieve. Fuck. Gen. I - I need help. I'm so - I'm so fucking - thank you. Thank you for offering. This - I don't know - I thought I was alone with this and I just, I know, I never thought - that you're, that you're with him, too. That you could - that you _would_ \- help - I mean, I don't -"

"Jensen."

"I'm sorry," Jensen breathes and buries his head against his knees that smell like Jared through the fabric of his sweatpants, "I've just - I don't even know what you think of all of this. I've always felt like we're doing this behind your back and we've never talked about it so I never thought to talk about it with you, you know?"

"Jensen."

"Y-yeah."

"I'm so, so sorry it took me this long."

"Yeah. I - it's alright, Gen."

"I want to help you."

"I'd love that. Please."

"Alright."

Jensen can hear the kids in the background, and for a moment, the phone rattles.

"Alright," Genevieve gets back to him with a sigh, "I'd love to meet with you sometime soon. I'm coming to Vancouver in two weeks with the kids and we'll stay for a while and if you're available then, we could arrange something. I really, really want to be there. I really want to do my part."

"Thank you. Thank you - so much."

"Are you okay?"

Jensen sniffs. Then he laughs - he chokes the sound of it and it turns into a sob, and he shakes his head and hiccups.  
"I'm sorry," he gasps, "I'm just - I didn't even think -"

"Do you need... help? Right now?"

"No," Jensen breathes out, "No, I'm - I'm fine, I'm just - today's been really, really something - anyway, I'm fine, and he's fine, and we're just about to get something to eat before turning in, and - anyway. Yeah. I'd love to meet and - and talk, and, well. Conspire?"

Genevieve laughs.  
"Conspire. Yeah, I like that."

One of the boys screams in the background, and the phone rattles again. In a moment, Jensen can hear Genevieve sigh.

"I have to go," she tells him wearily, "but just know that if you need someone to talk with, or just someone to rant to, trust me, I know what you're talking about. Alright?"

"Alright."

"You're doing alright, Jensen?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. Really. I'm just tired."

"Alright. That's - I know how hard it is with him sometimes. You're not alone with it. Okay?"

"Okay."  
Jensen feels like choking again, but he swallows it and clears his throat instead.  
"Anyway. You should go - the kids sound needy."

"They're always needy. I'll send you a message when I know my schedule better, is that alright?"

"Sure. Thanks, Gen. Really - thank you."

"Don't thank me. I should have offered way earlier than this, I just - didn't think it was my place."

Jensen chuckles.  
"I felt the same way, really. I didn't even - I just thought - well, this whole thing's just felt really weird."

Genevieve sighs.  
"I know. I'm sorry. Anyway, I'll - send you a message. Good night, Jensen."

"Good night."

After the call's ended, it still takes Jensen a while to get on his feet. Quietly, he adjusts his flannel and buttons it up from the middle, and he takes a deep breath before finally walking out of the room. He finds Jared from the kitchen and, unthinking, walks over to him and wraps his arms around the man's waist. He presses his nose into the skin of his back and breathes him in, eyes closed and very aware of the heavy tingling weight in his muscles and the sudden relief and the hint of nervousness inside him. Jared's fingers trail over his like he's mapping him out before he gives his concentration back to the grilled cheese stirring on the pan.

"Did you talk with someone just now?" he asks Jensen, and Jensen nods.

"Just making some plans," he mutters and steps beside Jared, "Can I have one more glass of wine while you're cooking?"

"Help yourself."

Nodding, Jensen locates his glass and fills it up again. It's almost as if the wine tastes sweeter in the night.

 


End file.
